Clary's Diary
by Candydah
Summary: Over one hundred years after the time of Clary and Jace, their great-great-grandson is cleaning out the attic in the Lightwood Manor. There, he discovers a phenomenal book, and after years of obscurity, the words of his famous past are brought to light...
1. A Diary

So this is an idea I got after reading City of Glass recently for the first time. I wanted to know Clary's thoughts in the days after Valentine and far beyond, and began dotting some things down while I was bored at school. It began as a simple diary entry written by Clary, just to satisfy my curiosity. But then I got curious. A hundred years after Jace and Clary were long gone, would people still know them, or even remember? Who would read this diary after Clary was long gone? What would be someones thoughts, someone who was a distant relative of Clary maybe, while reading it? So the character Holm, Clary's direct, great-great-grandson, was born.

Holm's world is set a little over a hundred years after the end of CoG. He lives in Lightwood manor, the same home his family has lived in for centuries, since the time of Clary and Jace. A spoilt, selfish, lazy boy when it comes to anything other than demon hunting, Holm is hardly interested in anyone other than himself. But can the words of Clary, who lived over a hundred years before him, affect his heart when even his family has been unable to reach him?

**All characters except for Holm, his mother, and his father belong to Cassandra Clare, as well as any settings (Alicante, Idris, ect.). Idea/Plot belongs to me. **

* * *

"Holm!" His mother's shriek seemed to reverberate throughout the house. Holm Lightwood shot up in bed, his thin blond hair ruffled and his eyes bleary from sleep. "Holm! Wake up!!" He just sat and stared around the room in a daze. He was definitely not a morning person.

"Holm!!"

"Whaaat?" He groaned loudly at his door, in the direction he could hear his mother's footsteps as she undoubtedly stomped down the hall towards his room.

The door of his bedroom banged violently open. A woman, a little younger than middle-aged, strode into the room, a basket of clothes balanced on her hip. She paused and squinted into the darkness of the room. "God, it's like a cave in here Holm! Just because you're on break from the Academy doesn't mean you get to be lazy. Who ever heard of a lazy Shadowhunter?" She barked. She set the basket down and walked across the room while Holm sat, rubbing his face sleepily. Picking up dirty clothes from the floor, she tossed them behind her and into the basket with perfect aim as she walked. As she grabbed a dirty pair of jeans from the floor, she came to the large bay windows of Holms room and drew the curtains open wide, allowing sunlight to flood into the room.

Holm shouted and flopped back down onto the bed, pulling a pillow over his head. He heard his mother walk back across the room, undoubtedly picking more things up off the floor, he thought, when he heard the sound of random objects being tossed around. Suddenly, the pillow was ripped from his head and he shouted again, blinking blearily up at his mother who stood leaning over him. "Get up! I need your help today!"

She threw the pillow to the floor and tossed the blankets off him. He sat up again, this time more aware. "God! Mom! We have servants! Go get them to help!" He spat while she walked and picked up the basket of laundry. "Why are you doing laundry?" He asked with frustration.

"Because, unlike some people, I was raised in a poor household with no servants and all the work to myself and my family." His mother said sternly. "And you know what I learned from all of that?"

"I'd be delighted to know." He drawled scarcastically, jumping back as a clean t-shirt suddenly came flying across the room and hit him in the face.

"Character." His mother said firmly. "A person must have character. My son will not be some lazy asshole who relies on the servants to do everything."

He groaned loudly, but slid off the bed and pulled the shirt on. He walked grumpily to his dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans, pulling them on awkwardly. His mother stood watching him as he trudged over to stand before her. She rose an eyebrow and he sighed. "Well?" He asked grumpily.

His mother huffed. "What an ungrateful son I have. You practically come from heaven, with your background. You great-great-grandparents were famous Shadowhunters, you know, though most people have forgotten about them by now. You don't even know the history of the Lightwoods do you?"

He only grunted unhappily and scratched his head. He was hardly interested in the going-on's of some crusted old people who had died a hundred years ago. She took his silence as a no.

"It's hard to believe your top of your class." She pointed out.

He shrugged.

His mother sighed. "I want you to clean out the attic today."

His head snapped up. "What!? You've got to be kidding me."

His mother was shaking his head and digging through the basket of dirty clothes. She tossed him a dirty towl and pulled seemingly from nowhere (not for the first time, he was slightly frightened by his mother's ability to pull cleaning products from thin air) a bottle of dust spray. She shoved it into his hands. "Get to work." She said as she turned from him and walked out of the room. "And who knows? That stuff up there has been just sitting there for ages. You might find something interesting."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, staring around the room.

"And clean your room when you're finished!" His mother added, shouting from somewhere in the house.

Holm groaned loudly.

* * *

The attic was dusty and dark. Dust motes flew through the stale air, dancing through the light of the little round window up near the ceiling, which for the moment was the only source of light. _Mom was right_, Holm thought as he peered around, waving a hand in front of his face. _It doesn't look like anyone's been up here for decades._

He craned his neck and shouted back in the direction of the stairs. "Mom!! How am I supposed to see?!"

"You're a Shadowhunter, aren't you?!" He heard her faint shout from somewhere within the depths of the house. "Use a witchlight, for God-sakes!"

He sighed in frustration. Of course. He dug his witchlight out of his pocket and squeezed it tightly. It burst into life and its light suddenly lit up the room as well as the sun, though the bluish, white light made the atmosphere look somewhat creepy. He glared around the room and ran a hand through his fine, light blonde hair. With the light of the witchlight, the horrible state the attic was in was suddenly clear. He briefly debated whether he could make a run for it and spend the day in Alicante with is friends. But he shook his head. No, he decided. He was more afraid of his mother than he was of facing god-only-knows-what was hiding in this attic.

A half hour later, the air of the attic was clogged with dust as Holm ran around, scrubbing the many boxes, furniture, and other odds-and-ends free of dust and grime. He coughed and threw himself down on a clean spot on the floor, waving the rag he was using to dust in front of his face. It didn't help and seemed to only make the problem worse. Dust particles flew around threw the air, illuminated by the witchlight. He peered around at the disaster of the attic. Despite having worked for the past half-hour, he had barely made any progress. He growled angrily and, in frustration, kicked the box nearest to him; which, coincidentally, happened to be the base of a huge tower of boxes which came crashing down near him a second later.

He shouted and scrambled away as the tower of boxes came crashing down, their contents spilling out. He crouched away from the mess as books, lamps, figurines, anything you could imagine flew around. When everything had settled down, he coughed, and lowered his hands from his head, peering around. The attic was in even more of a mess than before and he shouted, shooting up, aiming to kick the nearest object…

And stopped. The object he was about to kick appeared to be a large, leather bound book. There was a small glass square on the cover where an old, yellowing picture was framed. A word sewn into the brown leather of the book below the picture read _Clary _and there was the Lightwood family symbol.

Clary. The name sounded strange, but was also familiar. His anger forgotten for the moment, he bent to pick up the book and looked at it. It looked _old_. He peered at the picture in the little square but couldn't make out what it was through the layer of dust and grime. Curiously, he flipped the book open. The pages protested loudly and he concluded that no one had touched the book in years. The edges of the pages were yellowed and crinkling and the pages themselves were stuck lightly together. He carefully pried some apart and peered at the first page he could. Printed on the page in a loopy, carefree handwriting, were paragraphs of words and at the top of the pages, his eyes caught two significant ones, standing alone. _Dear Diary_… So it was a diary?

He closed the book (or diary) again and then opened it and peered at the inside cover. The only thing printed there carefully was

'_Diary of Clarissa "Clary" Graymark'_

only the Graymark part had been crossed through carefully with a single line and written under it in the same careful tone, the same loopy handwriting, was "_Lightwood_".

_So someone from my family?_ He thought. And okay, he admitted, he was curious. What his mother had said had been true. He didn't know much about his past other than immediate facts. He sat down, setting the book carefully in his lap, and delicately pried apart the first few pages. Curiously, he peered down at the second or third or so page and looked at the date.

May 12, 2007

_Damn!_ He thought mentally. _That was over a hundred years ago!_ Here was a diary written by his distant relative over a hundred years ago. His curiosity was only increased and he began to read…

"Dear Diary,

All the excitement seems to have finally ended. Simon left Alicante to return to Brooklyn with the rest of the Lightwoods and Magnus yesterday. He will be finishing his last few years in normal high school and then will go to college. Considering his newly acquired hotness and, in his words, "rockin bod", I pity the girls who will no doubt flock to him like flies to honey. Isabelle, after completing her last year of training, has gotten permission from Maryse and Robert to follow him. I'm not entirely sure how Simon feels about the idea yet. Magnus and Alec are discussing living arrangements. Now that Alec is considered an adult and has finished his training, Magnus is trying to convince him to move in with him. I have a feeling it won't take much convincing.

Mom and Luke have mentioned getting married. It's too soon to tell right now, but I think it's a pretty sure bet that I will be attending a spring wedding next year. Mom and Luke have even allowed me to call myself Graymark. Morgenstern is a hated name to us all. We are staying in Alicante for the mean time as they work out a few details with the council and will soon return to Brooklyn to meet back up with the Lightwoods.

Jace did not go back with his family. Instead, he decided to stay with me, which is good. I don't think I could stand to be apart from him. The pain that comes from even the thought is almost too much to bear. I think it's the same for him, too. He is always with me and it seems like he always has his arms wrapped around me in some way or is gripping my hand tightly in his. We are constantly together, even around Mom and Luke. Luke is already fond of Jace, so that's no trouble. I was at first worried for a moment about Mom liking him, but my worry was wasted, for which I am glad. Mom has come to adore him. I think Jace enjoys the attention. She has even offered to let him live with us back in Brooklyn, despite knowing that Jace and I will go live with the Lightwoods at the Institute where I will begin Shadowhunter training. Mom, not surprisingly, is being difficult about me moving out. I'm not sure whether this is because our whole lives she has kept me so close, or because she does not trust me living with Jace under anyone's supervision but her own. The Lightwood's values are somewhat different, after all. But I don't think she needs to worry. Now that we don't have to hide anything, things are moving slowly between me and Jace. I'm perfectly happy just spending time with him, as he is with me.

My mother is not the only one becoming attached to Jace. Amatis has said repeatedly that she will be sorry to see Jace go once we go back to Brooklyn. I think this is more due to Jace's resemblance to his birth-father Stephen Herondale than anything. I've looked at pictures and the similarity between them is incredible. It is through these similarities that Amatis and I have become close, too. Considering how alike Jace is to his birth-father, we both might have fallen in love with the same man. In any case, Amatis dotes on him as if he were her own son. Which, now that I think of it, had it not been for Valentine (I refuse to call him my Dad, he was never a father to me), he would have been.

As I write, sitting leaned up against Jace's leg's in the Penhallows garden, I keep glancing up to make sure he isn't sneaking peaks at what I'm writing. He isn't and is instead contenting himself with playing with my hair. He seems much lighter, like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders. He is less hunched. The bags under his eyes have lightened. His expression isn't constantly set in a state of anger or bitterness. It makes me feel so lighthearted to see him this way. To be able to sit with him like this without it being a terrible crime. Until a few days ago, I had thought I would never get to be with him like this, and he thought the same of me. Now we know the truth, and let me tell you, the truth _does_ set you free! His hair has grown out again. It's curly and falls into his eyes when he leans forward. His golden eyes are more relaxed and carefree than I have ever, _ever_ seen before.

I am happy.

—Clary. "

Oh. Hell.

* * *

"Mom!" Holm shouted, jumping up and running down the stairs! "Mom!" He ran all the way through the house, shouting, and finally found her in the kitchen.

"Quiet! Your father is taking a nap!" His mother asked, peering up from her place stirring a big pot of something at the stove. "What is it?

"Loo—" He paused in his speaking. "Wait. Dad's home?"

"He came home about ten minutes ago. What is that?" She asked, banged the wooden spoon against the pot, set it aside, and covered the pot with its lid.

"I found it in the attic. Look! It's an old diary!" He said, thrusting it towards her.

She took it, an amused smile on her face. "I told you you'd find something you might think was interesting." She looked at the cover, tried to rub off the grime from the picture, and failed. Huffing, she carefully opened the book and read the words on the inside cover. "Clary Lightwood!" She exclaimed, her eyes widening. "That's your great-great grandmother!" She said, closing the book and handing it back to him. "She and her husband, Jace, your great-great-grandfather, were very famous Shadowhunters."

He took the book back and absently rubbed at the picture. "What were they famous for? And whose Valentine?"

His mother shook her head and returned to her pot on the stove. "I don't know. They lived a very long time ago. There's a statue of them at the Academy, in fact." His mother said absently. "In the west garden. The only thing I know is that they were said to have the blood of angels."

"All Shadowhunters have the blood of angels." Holm protested.

His mother shrugged. "I don't know anything else about it. I married into the Lightwood family. Ask your father."

"Okay!" he shouted and darted from the kitchen. His mother dropped the spoon she was stirring with suddenly and snapped around.

"Oh, wait, he sleep—" But he was already gone. She shrugged. "Oh, well."

* * *

"Dad!" He shouted, running into his parents room. His father grunted and started awake. "Dad! Wake up! Look at this!"

"If you're going to show me another one of your school trophies or the head of some recently slayed demon, get out." His father's muffled voice came through the pillow his face was buried in.

"It's not! Look! I was cleaning out the attic for Mom—"

"She probably forced you to do it."

"That's not the point! I was cleaning out the attic for Mom and I found this." He announced triumphantly, slapping the book down on the bed near his father's feet.

His father sat up and peered sleepily through his black bangs at the diary. "What's that?"

"Open it! Read the inside cover."

His father did as he was told, sighing. He pulled the diary towards him and is eyes widened in shock. "Clary Lightwood! Where did you find this?" His father asked, leaning over to the nightstand and grabbing his glasses, which he shoved onto his face.

"In the attic." Holm repeated impatiently. "Who were they?"

"Your great-great-grandparents. My great-grandparents."

"I know! But Mom says they were famous and that there's even a statue of them in the Academy. Why?"

His father carefully flipped through the pages of the aging diary. "Over a hundred years ago a man named Valentine, a Shadowhunter, thought that Downworlders were nothing less than scum and vowed to eradicate every single one of them, as well as any Shadowhunters who went against him. He betrayed the Clave and killed many innocent people, and even allied himself with demons to try and reach his goal, completely forgetting the reason the Nephilim exsisted in the first place. His wife was Jocelyn Morgenstern and his daughter was Clarissa, or Clary." His father explained, his eyes glued to the diary.

"Valentine… we learned about him in a little at the Academy." Holm mused. "He was killed by Raziel, or so the story goes."

"That is true." His father said. "Valentine used the Mortal Instruments, which up until that time had been lost for centuries, to summon Raziel for the second time and have his wish that all the current Nephilim be stripped of their powers. He thought the Clave of that time corrupt and it was true, in many ways they were. But they were mostly corrupt because of him. His daughter, who he had intended to use as a sacrifice to summon Raziel, foiled his plans and, along with her then-boyfriend of the time, your great-great-grandfather, Jace Lightwood, saved all the Downworlder's and Nephilim, ending Valentine's reign of terror."

"Is that it?" He asked almost desperately.

"Well, of course there's more to the story." His father said, pushing his glasses up farther on his nose. "But it's been a hundred years. And no one remembers Valentine anymore. Which is probably bad," His father added absently, "as the whole situation with him could happen again if no one bothers to remember. But in any case, because no one remembers Valentine, no one remembers Clary or Jace. So I don't know any more than that."

"But I've got to know!" Hold insisted. He didn't know why, but suddenly he was insatiably curious about these people, his great-great-grandmother and father, especially after hearing his father's brief story.

"Well, try reading the diary." His father replied. "It was written by your great-great-grandmother Clary Lightwood herself. If you want to find out, that's the best place to start." His father yawned and flopped back, pulling his glasses off and tossing them back onto the nightstand. "Now let me sleep. I just got back from the Moscow Institute and I'm exhausted. Tell your mother to wake me when dinner is ready."

Holm tucked the book carefully and turned to walk from the room. "Alright." He said, to everything his father had just said.

-------------------

At this moment, I'm not sure whether or not I will keep this as a one-shot or continue the story, but I think the chances that I will continue are pretty good. ^^ I'm still not finished digging through Clary's head! Comments are better than cookies. O.o Also, I'm interested in beta readers. I've never used them before but I'd like some critique on what I could improve upon. Thank you!


	2. A Picture

Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone! :D I hardly expected my story to get so much attention in only the first day I put it up! I know eight reviews isn't much in the long run, but I'm so grateful for all the praise. Now I'm completely excited to get this story going! I have tons of ideas for it! ;D I'm not sure how long it will go one for, but you can be sure there's lots more to come.

Everyone seems to be wondering whether or not Simon or maybe Magnus will show up somewhere along the lines. I cant tell you for sure *shields from tomatoes* but I will say that anything can happen. Especially since it is completely within their abilities to live for a hundred years and beyond.

Here is the second chapter. :D I was typing it up for most of the day, as I was "sick" today and could not go to school.

Bwahahaha

**All characters except for Holm, his mother, and his father belong to Cassandra Clare, as well as any settings (Alicante, Idris, ect.). Idea/Plot belongs to me. **

* * *

Throughout the next few days, Holm took several trips into the city and brought Clary's diary to an antique specialist. The specialist was amazed at the age of the book and thought Holm lucky that he had discovered such an important piece of his past, but nothing else. When asked, he had no idea who Clary or Jace were and knew even less of Valentine than Holm had at first. Holm wondered if it was only the incompetence of the man that made his knowledge of his great-great-grandparents so little or if people really had forgotten about Clary and Jace. Nonetheless, Holm handed the diary over with strict orders to be extremely carefully with it, and told the man he would be back the next day. The specialist nodded frantically, placed the diary carefully on his workbench, and bobbed his head once quickly in a hasty bow.

The rest of the day, Holm went on a hunt for answers. He took a trip to the Clave's council room and questioned the workers and single receptionist there, taking down the names of the council-members who would have been alive during Clary and Jace's time. The receptionist boredly handed over the answers to whatever questions she could, but when he got to asking more specific questions, such as the ages of the certain council members, or whether she had ever heard of Clary, she replied in what he thought was a dry tone, "Just because the Lightwoods are an extremely affluent family in Idris, doesn't mean that everyone knows their history." Holm thanked her in a tight tone and left to head for his next destination.

At the Library of Alicante, he didn't have much luck. Electricity didn't work in Idris, so there were no computers and he certainly couldn't look anything up on the internet. He was stuck with the old fashioned way of flipping through as many history books as he could and asking as many people as were available for answers. His previous suspicions turned out to be true. Everyone knew the names Valentine, Clary, and Jace, but that was as far as their knowledge went. He hastily flipped through book after book looking for any mention of them. Their names popped up several times, but he only gathered small pieces of information. It was by coincidence, browsing through a book about the Clave and Council, that he discovered that it was Clary who had designed and drew the current emblem of the Council and that she was the reason they had the Alliance program now; the Alliance program being a bond of sorts between Shadowhunters and Downworlders using two runes to share their power. From there, he wondered why she was responsible and began looking up information on the program's history. What he discovered was an old article that stated that his great-great-grandmother had created the rune that enabled Nephilim and Downworlders to share their powers in battle. He snorted and tossed the article away. A Shadowhunter who can create runes? Impossible. He'd never heard of such a thing.

By the end of the day he was still looking up information. It was well into the night when his mother came to find him and drag him home. The Library was open to all Nephilim throughout all hours, so he hadn't realized how late it had become. He was still protesting somewhat loudly, however, when his mother kicked him into the carriage and they rode home. During the ride back to the Manor Holm's lack of sleep gradually caught up to him and when they got home, he gratefully threw himself onto his bed, jeans and sneakers and all, and went to sleep.

* * *

"Holm. Holm." A voice shook him awake and he groaned and slammed a fist down onto the pillow his face was buried in. He shook his head and turned his face just so that he could peek his eyes angrily up at whoever was speaking. His father was leaned over him, his glasses falling off his nose, shaking Holm awake. Light flooded the room where his father had opened the curtain.

"What?" Holm croaked, turning his face so that it was once again buried in the pillow.

"A messenger from Willow's Antique Store came and delivered this." His father set something down on the bed in front of Holm. Holm's head snapped up and he grunted as the sunlight penetrated his eyes. He forced them open a little bit and saw the white envelope sitting in front of him.

He huffed and sat up tiredly. His thin blond hair felt limp and greasy and his bones felt stiff. He desperately needed a shower. But he picked up the envelope and glared at it slightly, pushing his bangs up and out of his face. His father held out a letter opener to him. He ignored it and ripped open the message. His eyes scanned the words on the page.

"What does it say?" His father asked. Holm glanced up at him.

"It says Clary's old diary is ready." Holm balled up the letter and threw it in the trash bin by his bed. He tossed the blankets off of him and slowly slid out of bed.

"Why is the diary at the Antique Store?" His father asked, moving out of Holm's way as he strode over to his dresser and pulled out a set of fresh clothes.

"Cause I had it taken there so it could be restored. The pages were all stuck together and the grime covering the glass on the frame was so thick I couldn't even see the picture." Holm had made it especially clear that the Antique Specialist make it so that Holm could see the picture on the front. He wanted to know what his great-great-grandparents looked like.

"Oh." His father said. "Well, I've made an appointment for you to speak to the Vampire Council Representative."

Holm's head snapped up. "What? Why?"

"Because she was alive the same time your great-great-grandparents were."

Holm grimaced and internally kicked himself. Of course. He should have done that, instead of exchanging snappy words with the receptionist at the Council Hall. "Cool."

His father gave him a look, his eyebrow raised. When Holm said nothing else, he shrugged, pushed his glasses farther up his nose, and left.

Not a minute later, as Holm was about to walk out of the room, his mother swooped down on him. She popped up, seemingly from nowhere, and he was again amazed at his mother's ability to show up exactly when he just wanted to be left alone. He growled a little. "What?"

"What was that, Holm Lightwood?" His mother snapped in a low voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He shrugged, stepped around her, and began walking down the hall.

"Your father had to pull a lot of strings to get that appointment." His mother followed right behind him. "You should have said thank you. I taught you better than that."

Holm reached the bathroom and yanked open the door. He stepped inside and turned to his mother, who glared at him with her arms crossed. He blanched a little and fidgeted, glancing around. "Okay, I'm sorry, I'll tell him next time."

"You'd better." His mother said firmly and then sighed. "Oh, Holm, I wish I didn't have to remind you of these things."

Holms face went hard and he was about to retort but she turned and walked away. Grumbling, he closed the door and took a shower.

* * *

When he was finished with his shower he got dressed and went straight to the Antique Store, resolving to thank his father for the Council appointment later. He didn't bother with a carriage and instead took one of the horses, hurrying away from his home before his mother could pop out of nowhere and lecture him about something again. It took a good twenty minutes to get to the city from the Lightwood Manor by carriage. On horseback, Holm made it in ten. It was around noon when he finally arrived and the city was bustling with activity. He saw several of his classmates from the Academy but didn't bother to wave at them (though they waved to him) as he passed. He was the school prodigy and the Lightwood Heir. Of course he knew almost everyone at the school but was only close to a select few, who were considered the more popular Academy attendees. He normally didn't bother with anyone else.

The Antique Store was empty, no surprise. The open sign swung in the window but there were no other horses or carriages hitched in the area. He secured his horse before strolling inside, the bell above the door ringing, announcing his entrance.

The elderly shop owner shuffled out from the back of the store. "Coming! I'm coming!"

He paused when he saw Holm standing behind the counter. "M-Mr. Lightwood! Here, I have your book right here." He gripped the surface of the counter as he leaned over and drew something out from behind it, setting it down in front of Holm. It was the diary, wrapped carefully in brown paper.

Holm raised his eyebrow and looked at the old man.

"The paper is merely a cautionary measure. Open it, examine it, if you like." The old man urged.

Holm shrugged and ripped the paper unceremoniously from the surface of the book. It came off easily and Holm had to admit, he was slightly surprised at the old man's work. The surface of the leather was no longer dull, the thread of Clary's name and the Lightwood family emblem no longer fading. The glass containing the picture reflected the light coming in through the window of the shop. He peered down briefly at the picture and saw that it was of two people sitting in the grass. He opened the book and flipped carefully through the first few pages. They didn't stick together and flowed freely, and the writing was no longer blurry and dull but clear against the yellow/off-white of the diary's pages. Delighted, Holm shut the book carefully and tossed a bag of coins onto the counter. "Perfect, old man."

The old man gingerly took the coins and watched as Holm turned and strode towards the door. The bell of the shop rang again as the door opened and Holm prepared to start out, but paused. Then he turned towards the old man and looked at him, somewhat awkwardly. "Thank you." He said, somewhat reluctantly, and in a tone that implied he was doing the old man a great favor.

The old man only smiled and bobbed his head. "You're welcome."

Holm blinked and walked out.

* * *

After Holm had arrived home, he ran up to his room. His mother and father were gone. The footman had informed him that they had gone into the city to see a play at the theater. Good, the thought. He didn't feel like being bothered by anyone at the moment. It had been a whole day since he had last seen the diary and he was excited to read the rest of it. After he had read the first entry, he had put it carefully away, afraid he might damage it if he tried to go through it any more than he already had. So first thing the next day he had taken it to the Antique Specialist and had him fix it up so that Holm could freely read it without worrying about damaging it.

He sat on his bed and held the diary in his hands. He wondered, vaguely, who had been the last person to touch the book. Maybe Clary herself? He had no way of knowing even when the diary had been placed in the attic. No way of knowing who had put it there and how long ago. As he was day dreaming, his eyes caught the reflection of the light off the glass bound in the cover of the book. He blinked out of his reverie and remembered the picture. He had only glanced at it back in the shop, remembering it as a picture of two people sitting in a field of grass. He bent over and examined the aged picture further.

He sucked in a breath. There they were, or so he assumed it was them. The picture was of them, sitting together, leaned against one another. Only it wasn't a field of grass they were sitting in, rather a yard. Lightwood Manor's yard. There was his home in the background of the picture, and off to the side he could see the branches of the only tree poking out. Holm himself had run around in and played on the very spot his great-great-grandparents appeared to be sitting. His eyes floated over to the woman he assumed was Clary. In the picture, she couldn't have been older than 20. She was thin and petite. The kind of girl you'd be afraid of crushing if you hugged her too hard. Her thick, curly red hair was blown in the wind and her slim hand was tucked behind her ear in the action of brushing her hair from her face. Her skin was pale, her eyes a pretty apple-green. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks and her lips were pulled up into a light smile.

Holm looked at the man he assumed was Jace. He looked… a lot like Holm. His hair was thin, blond, and curly, as Clary had described in her diary. He looked tall. Holm would have guessed he was a little less than six feet. Like Holm, his build was lean and his muscles were obvious, even in the light t-shirt he was wearing. Amber eyes stared back at him. Jace's lips were turned up into an amused smirk, but it was not the sort of smirk Holm himself wore regularly—cranky and sarcastic. In the picture, Jace appeared on the verge of laughing. Thin scars, the scars of a Shadowhunter, crisscrossed across his arm, which was tossed carelessly over Clary's shoulder.

Holm stared at the picture for a good ten minutes, drinking in every detail. He was amazed. The scenery was exactly the same. It could have been taken yesterday, for all anyone else but Holm and his parents knew.

After a moment, while staring at Clary, he remembered that he was actually holding her diary in his hands. He blinked and flipped the book open, turning to the first entry he had read. It was actually the third or so entry in the book. He shook his head, resolved to start from the beginning tomorrow, flipped to the next entry after that, and began to read.

"June 1, 2007

Dear Diary,

Mom and Luke have finished patching up all their loose ends with the Council, and so now were free to go. I am so glad to be going back to Brooklyn, but I can't help but feel sad about leaving Alicante. This place is so beautiful, and these last few weeks have been so peaceful compared to the horror of the past few months. It's almost hard to believe that it's all over and I won't ever have to worry about Valentine ever again. I never thought I'd get to be lazy and just relax ever again. Even in the few days after Valentines death and the big celebration I hardly had time to stop and think. I almost want to stay here and begin my Shadowhunter education at the academy. But, according to everyone (Jace, Mom, Luke) I'm too old. So I will be trained privately by the Lightwoods. And I do miss Brooklyn, despite everything. I've never gone such a long stretch of time without seeing Simon and will be glad to get back some sense of normalcy (though I'm not sure my life can now be considered normal since that fateful day in the alley by the Pandemonium).

I'm taking a break from packing up all my things to write this. Between gifts from everyone and things my mother has bought me here in Alicante, I have a ton of new, Shadowhunter-esque clothes plus a few other things. Amatis has given me her Shadowhunter gear and the silver dress. Luke took me to a tailor to get my green coat patched up. It is as lovely as the day I got it. And surprisingly, Valentine left us something as well. Of course, in his brief will, he stated that everything was to go to his first born son, Jonathon Christopher (Sebastian). But as Sebastian is dead, they have deemed all of Valentine's estates and assets to us. Everyone was surprised at that. We all assumed the Clave would confiscate everything Valentine owned. Of course, they did make us promise to burn down the several manor houses listed on the will that belonged to Valentine, but that is no trouble. We want every trace of him gone. Mom is giving most of Valentine's vast fortune to the city towards the Gard and Alicante's reconstruction, as well as the burial of the many fallen Shadowhunters. She kept a large piece of it for emergency funds, and then split another large piece of it between me and her. She has not spent a penny of her share, and I suspect she is saving it for her wedding to Luke. The irony of it makes me laugh, though never around Jace. Valentine was his childhood father, after all. I don't think he misses Valentine, but he will never be able to forget him. I, personally, am using my share to buy some things that I have no doubt I will need in the coming days: a new stele, the latest model, which I've named Engel, a few odds and ends for Jace (though he will never, ever find out where I got the money from), a souvenir for Simon, flowers to put on Max's grave, something for all of the Lightwoods, Luke, Mom, Maia, and Magnus, standard Shadowhunter books which Jace has told me are the basic study of students at the Academy, training clothes, and a few other weapons I found interesting. And I haven't even used up half of my share.

The reconstruction of Alicante has been going smoothly and little sign of Valentine's demon's siege remains. The hills beyond Alicante, however, are now flooded with the fresh graves of the Nephilim who fell that day. It is a sad sight to see. I've gone to see little Max's grave once with Jace. It was a sight that gripped my heart and twisted it around in its fist. I cried. Max had reminded me of Simon when we were kids. I didn't know him that well, but then again I did. Like Simon and I, we had many things in common. Sebastian (I cannot call him the same name as Jace) answered for his crime in the end, though. But the memory of him still bothers me. His body has yet to be found and I am hesitant to believe that it was just washed away by the river so easily. My brother (this I am glad to call him, because it means that if he is my brother, Jace is not) will forever haunt my dreams. I have nightmares about him and Valentine sometimes. The good news is that whenever Sebastian or Valentine do choose to bother my sleep, Jace is always there too; always standing between me and Sebastian's black stare, always next to me when facing Valentine, the man who was a father to both of us, though in very different ways.

Today Jace and I are going on a walk through Alicante for the last time in what is sure to be a long while. We will not return for, at the very least, another year. As soon as I get back to Brooklyn I will start my training and will have very little time to spare, even for Jace."

After that, the handwriting became messy and Holm had a little trouble reading the last sentence of the entry, as if it was written in a hurry. He squinted a little at the page and went over the words slowly before he finally got its meaning.

"Jace is knocking on the door! Got to go! I will write you later, Diary, to tell you what happened.

—Clary."

"Wow, it looks brand new." A voice startled Holm just after he had finished reading. His head snapped up to see his mother leaning over him. She was dressed formally in a blue gown of silk gossamer and was wrapped in a white, silk shawl. Her mouse brown hair had been pulled from a bun and she held her blue heels in her hand.

"Jeeze Mom!" Holm snapped, flipping the diary shut. His mother leaned away from him, a hand on her hip.

"Wow, you can even see the picture." She mused, ignoring his snappy tone.

"Uhg!" He said, flopping backwards onto his bed.

His mother smirked, amused. "Why don't you show that to your father? I'm sure he'd love to see it."

Holm glared at the ceiling and huffed.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry for startling you." His mother half laughed, leaning forward and patting him on the leg. "If a little thing like that wounds your pride, I'm worried for you." She turned and began to leave. "Dinner is ready, if you're hungry. I had the servants make it today since your father and I were out."

"Yeah." Holm groaned out, staring at the ceiling. There went his quiet peace.

"And Holm?"

He grunted in acknowledgement.

"Remember what I said earlier, about your father." She said, and he thought he heard the tone of a threat in her voice. Uh oh. He swallowed and sat up to find his mother standing in the door, facing out, her hand on the frame. She said nothing more, only raised an eyebrow at him before she swept out of the room.

Holm groaned.

* * *

Taadaa! :D Poor Holm still has a lot to learn. Reviews are better than Klondike Bars!!!! (and thats saying something)


	3. An Address

Hellow people :D Thank you so much for all the reviews! Seventeen is a new record for me, lol. Anyway, I have been typing this up for the past few days. Coincidentally, right after I stayed home from school the other day for being "sick", I caught an actual cold. Go figure. So I actually had plenty of time to type this up. I also wrote down some character designs for exsisting as well as upcoming characters and an outline for the next eleven or so chapters. So I know exactly whats going to happen and whose going to show up. All thats left to do is write it all down.

Here is the third chapter! It's a little longer than previous ones, but some interesting stuff happens.

**All characters except for Holm, his mother, and his father belong to Cassandra Clare, as well as any settings (Alicante, Idris, ect.). Idea/Plot belongs to me. **

* * *

Dinner was eventful, as usual. Holms two close friends from school, Lark and Saille, stopped by to hang out. It ended out with his mother insisting they stay for dinner, and eventually spend the night. Holm didn't mind much. Lark and Saille were the two people of his school mates that he was willing to put up with on a daily basis. True to his nature, Holm generally only hung out with people of the same social and wealth status as him. And Lark and Saille were this and more. Lark's family was new money. They had only recently acquired a fortune a decade or so ago but flaunted it as well as any old blue blood. That, and Lark was one of the most beautiful girls at the Academy. She was tall, but still a good three or four inches shorter than Holm, with long, thick, mahogany brown hair. She had big, chocolate brown doe-eyes to match framed with thick lashes and her skin was tan and flawless. Saille would have been your typical partner-in-crime if Holm would have been able to put up with one. His family was involved in politics and his mother was the current inquisitor. They were fabulously wealthy, but small and exclusive. He was a little shorter than Holm with long, pale blond hair which he tied back with a piece of leather. His eyes were a steely grey and his expressions generally serious.

After dinner, the three of them hung out in the Manor's rec room until well into the night when Holm's mother came in and finally demanded that they go to sleep. In all that time, Holm was wrestling with himself over whether or not to share Clary's diary with his friends. Finally he decided that it could do no harm. Holm's mother made up a guest room for Lark and Saille stayed in Holm's room with him. After they were sure both his parents were asleep, however, they had Lark sneak out of her room and join them.

The three of them all sat on Holm's bed while he explained about Clary's diary. Lark, whose family was scattered and extremely large, seemed particularly interested in it and after much convincing Holm leaned over and pulled it out from under the bed where he had hid it. He set it delicately on the bed while Lark was hopping up and down in excitement.

"Wow." She said, reaching out hesitantly and glancing towards Holm for approval to take it. He nodded and she picked it up gingerly and set it on her lap. "It doesn't look very old." She said absently, running her hand lightly over the front cover.

"That's because I had it restored. You should have seen it before." Holm replied, shoving several grapes from the fruit bowl he had set out for snacks at once into his mouth.

"Clary Graymark." Lark read after having flipped open the cover to read the inside. She ran her slim finger along the line that crossed out 'Graymark' and then over the name 'Lightwood'. "Lightwood." She read. "She must have crossed out the Graymark part after she got married and had her name changed."

"I guess."

"So, this thing is a hundred years old right?" Saille said, flopping down onto the bed next to Lark. "Why bother with it? You could probably get a pretty penny for it."

Holm snapped around and, somewhat playfully, whacked Saille upside the head. "Cause, dummy, I hardly need any more money. And it was my great-great-grandmothers. It's got sentimental value."

"I don't think you've ever been sentimental in your life. You're not capable of it." Saille retorted with a smirk, rubbing the spot Holm had hit.

"I agree with Saille." Lark added, her voice distant as she flipped through the diary and listened to their conversation at the same time.

"What? You think I should sell it too?" Holm asked, surprised. He didn't think Lark would have stood for it.

He was right. "God no!" She said with sudden vehemence, her head snapping up to look at him as she paused in the middle of turning a page. "I just meant I never thought of you as capable of being sentimental. You're much too much of a spoiled brat for that."

Holm fumed for a short moment before he snapped back, "Well your one to talk about being a spoiled brat."

"Touché" Lark retorted, smirking.

"Okay, enough of this," Saille said, reaching over for the book. Lark handed it over hesitantly, her expression wary while Holm's eyes followed the passage of the diary like a hawk. "What's so special about your heritage anyway? You'd never even heard of this Clary broad before you found this old book."

"It's a diary." Holm corrected, snatching the book away while Lark hit Saille soundly on the head for his 'broad' comment.

"I think it's fantastic, especially considering its over a hundred years old." Lark stated. "Don't you dare get rid of it, Holm Lightwood, do you hear me?"

"I'm not gonna get rid of it just because Thing 2 over here says I should." Holm said with an amused smile.

"Why do I gotta be Thing 2? I wanna be Thing 1." Saille huffed.

"Because I'm Thing 1."

"Uhg!"

"If your Thing 1 and he's Thing 2, then who am I?" Lark said, pointing to Holm, Saille, and herself respectively.

Holm and Saille exchanged a quick glance and then looked back at her. "The fish." They chorused.

"What?!" Lark shouted as Holm and Saille burst out laughing, picking up a pillow and attacking them with it.

"You guys are jerks!" She said with a laugh, raising the pillow to hit them over the heads with it.

The door to Holm's room opened slowly and his father stepped in. Lark paused, the pillow raised in the air. All three pairs of teenage eyes were turned towards Holm's father like deer's caught in headlights.

"You're lucky your mother is tired and sent me instead." He said slowly, rubbing his head.

The three of them only blinked and were silent.

His father sighed and yawned. "It's 4 a.m. Go to sleep." He commanded tiredly. He turned and trudged from the room.

The three friends glanced around at each other after he had left. "Well, that was only slightly embarrassing." Lark commented sarcastically. "But I think your dad is right, anyway, Holm. I'm tired so I'm gonna go to sleep."

"Suit yourself." Saille shrugged, picking up an apple out of the bowl of snacks and examining it morosely. He turned to Holm. "Why can't you ever eat normal stuff? Like chips?"

"Are you aware of how unhealthy chips are?" Holm asked back, his eyebrows raised.

"Are _you_sure you're a teenager?" Saille countered.

"I'm sure I'm a Shadowhunter." Holm said, biting into a pear. "And a Shadowhunter needs to stay fit. You can't exactly do that eating chips."

"You're crazy."

"Ok, ok, you two." Lark intervened before things could get ugly. "Good night." She said firmly, and Holm was briefly reminded of his mother. She leaned over and kissed them both on the cheek before sweeping out of the room.

Holm glanced sideways at Saille. He was blushing slightly with his hand touching his cheek where Lark had kissed him. He rolled his eyes. "Oh boy."

* * *

The next morning the three of them ate breakfast and then went into the city to hang out. None of them mentioned the diary anymore after that, but Holm's mind must have been on it all day, he thought. He hadn't read any more entries from it since before dinner the night before and it was nagging on his mind. After a while he lost his patience and just told Lark and Holm that he would didn't feel well and was going home. The two paused while peering into a shop window and glanced at each other, then shrugged. They knew how Holm was. And they knew that complaining about it would do them no good. Holm walked away from them, heading back to where he had hitched his horse, feeling only slightly guilty. He didn't like just ditching his friends, but he only had so much patience. And he had begun to feel like a third wheel anyway.

The manor was empty when Holm got home, with a note in the grand foyer written by his mother that said both she and Holm's father had been called into to deal with some emergency problems at their work. Apparently, an abnormal amount of demons had been sniffing around the borders of Idris. Holm narrowed his eyes as he read the paper before he crushed it in his fist. Demons rarely hung around the borders of Idris. Even if most of them were stupid, they all knew better than that. He was concerned, but brushed it off and ran upstairs. The rest of the evening he spent browsing through Clary's diary and just being lazy in his room, which had become just as messy as it generally was before his mother had gone through it, picking up random objects. The next entry had him laughing somewhat, and he found himself flipping back to look at the picture of Clary and Jace on the cover, wanting to imagine the events of the diary as accurately as possible. He wanted to remember just what they looked like as he read.

"June 3, 2007

Dear Diary,

I write to you now, exhausted. I can barley open my eyes, but I am determined to continue with this diary. Years from now when I'm old and can't remember things for myself, I will have this to read. And when I'm gone, my children (if I do have any) can read this, and their children. So here I am, at two o' clock in the morning, so tired I can't bring myself to get up and go take a shower or even go to the bathroom, writing in my diary. Go figure. Jace is asleep next to me (no, we didn't) and if he ever finds out, I'll never hear the end of it.

The day before yesterday we got back from Alicante. We spent the afternoon and some of the night hanging out with the Lightwoods, Simon, and Magnus at the Institute. Because my room was not ready Maryse insisted I sleep in Isabelle's room. When she finally went to sleep I snuck out and met Jace in the greenhouse. We laid down in the grass in the spot where we had first kissed. A little cheesy, I know, but it's sort of become our spot, I guess. He tucked me into his side and I laid my head on chest with his arm wrapped around my shoulder. And, ok, I admit it, we kissed. It was different than the kisses I remember getting from him. Actually, no, that's not completely right. The kisses we have now are like the first or second kiss we had. Before we had ever thought we were siblings. I remember, while thinking he was my brother, thinking back a lot to those moments and comparing them to the kiss we had in the Seelie Court. The two seemed so vastly different. When we kiss now, it's sweet, and carefree, but there's still that spark. My face feels like it's on fire and my heart pounds so hard that I'm afraid he can hear it. Knowing him, he probably can. He always smirks or chuckles in a way that makes me think he knows something I don't. But I don't ask. He would probably tell me, if I asked, but I think I already know what it is. Then again, I could be wrong. There's no knowing with Jace.

I think we, or maybe it was just me, fell asleep in the garden. I woke up in Isabelle's room the next day. Or should I say, I was woken up. Robert came in to wake me at _six in the morning_. The rest of the day he had me stretching, running around, and exercising like crazy. I had assumed that I would be starting with the academic part of my training, but, God, was I wrong. Robert explained that he would be teaching me the combat part of it first, so that I could protect myself. Now that Valentine was dead, he didn't think we would have too much trouble, but a Shadowhunter must always be ready, he told me. "We wouldn't want Jace to have a heart attack," he said with a laugh. I said nothing, busy running around the gym of the institute and wiping the sweat off my forehead. As far as I was concerned, nothing any of the stuff we were doing had anything to do with Shadowhunter training. Jace, who was watching, explained that they had to build up my non-existent muscles before anything. I guess I understood that.

They gave me an hour break to have lunch and we finished right before dinner. I was so sore even then all I wanted to do was trudge to my room and just lie down and not move for the rest of my life. Jace wouldn't let me, insisting that I had to eat something or I wouldn't be able to continue tomorrow. I groaned at the thought and made him give me a piggy-back ride to the kitchen where I discovered I was actually starving and wolfed down my food. Jace watched me with a highly amused expression and then carried me back to my room. I think I fell asleep on the way there, because the next thing I knew I was waking up, still in my training clothes, with Jace asleep next to me. It's actually the first time I've ever seen his sleeping face. It's one of those rare opportunities I almost never get for me to examine him with an artist's eye. I can't do it usually because he'll catch me staring and question me about it with a smug smile. I find myself mentally pointing out things I've never noticed before. The angle of his cheekbones, the length of his eyelashes, how they brush against his cheek pressed up against the pillow while he slept on his side, the line of his jaw and the curves of his muscled arms. And the lines of his scars, crisscrossing elegantly across his skin.

Ok, I'm getting carried away. I have training tomorrow. I seriously need to sleeeep.

—Clary"

All across the page, scribbled messily, were quick sketches. Holm stared at them, taking in every detail of each one. They appeared to be of Jace, while he was sleeping. He gathered Clary must have done them while examining the sleeping Jace as she had said. They were all segmented parts of him. His eye, with seeming emphasis on his lashes and the angle of his cheek were it was pressed up against the pillow. His shoulder and neck, with faint lines crossing over them. Shadowhunter runes, Holm noted. Then in the corner, a complete sketch of Jace's sleeping face. It was somewhat interesting to see Jace through Clary's eyes. The sketch was messy and rushed, but still very well done. Holm was pleased to realize that he had learned a new thing about his great-great-grandmother. She had been an artist. But this one thing only made him want to know more.

His father's voice announced his parents return, sounding loudly through the house. "Holm! Were home!"

Holm was abruptly reminded of the demons snooping around the borders of Idris. He lightly shut the diary and ran downstairs. His parents explained that a group of Shadowhunters had been assigned to investigate and destroy any demons they came across. Holm raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Do they know who is controlling them?"

"Now, Holm," His father cautioned. "We don't know if anyone is controlling them yet. We don't want to jump to conclusions that might frighten some people."

"Of course someone is controlling them. Demons don't just snoop randomly around Idris. Someone had to have told them to."

"Holm, you haven't even graduated from the Academy yet." His mother said, coming up behind his father. She set her purse down on a nearby table and brushed a strand of mouse-brown hair behind her ear. "Why not leave this to the adults, dear?" She said, coming up to him. She gripped his chin in her thin hand and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"I am an adult." Holm replied moodily, crossing his arms, but said nothing. "I only have a few months to go before graduating."

"But you haven't graduated yet. Now, it's late. You have that appointment with the Council Member tomorrow and it's early. Youll need to be up in the morning, so go get some sleep." His mother commanded, yawning herself.

Holm blinked, surprised. He had almost completely forgotten about the Council Appointment and was suddenly and abruptly excited. "I almost forgot." Holm admitted somewhat reluctantly.

His mother shrugged her coat off and began walking towards her bedroom. "Okay, good night dear." His father, whose arm was wrapped around his mother's shoulder, followed her, but paused when Holm called out to them.

"Dad?"

His father, yawning, turned. "Hmm?"

"Uhm.." Holm shifted around a bit. "Thanks."

His father blinked. "For what?"

"For the appointment. Thanks." He repeated, trying to shrug it off as not-a-big-deal. He didn't quite succeed.

His father's lips twitched a little and nodded. His mother, Holm saw, had turned to him and her eye brows were raised. They said nothing more as Holm turned and strode back to his room.

* * *

"Holm! Get up!" His mother's voice startled him awake. Holm groaned tiredly and dragged a pillow over his head to block the light coming in through the window. His mother was standing by the window, her hand on the drawstring of the curtains. She was still dressed in her nightgown and think silk robe. She yawned and Holm guessed she must have woken up just recently. She stared at him through still-bleary eyes. "Get up and get ready. You're going to talk with the Vampire Council Representative, remember?"

"Uhg." Holm only said.

"Come on." His mother insisted, walking across the room and pulling the covers off of him. "I thought you were excited about it."

"I hate mornings." Holm grumbled unhappily, but rose up slowly from bed, brushing back his thin fine blond curls from his face.

"Well, the Academy starts up again in a little over a week, so you might as well get used to it." His mother pointed out, moving towards the door. "Im having the cook make breakfast this morning, and the maids are getting the bathroom ready for your shower." His mother explained, her hand on the doorframe. "And the carriage is being readied for you."

"I don't need a carriage. I'll just use a horse." Holm said blearily as he stumbled towards his dresser.

"It will make a better impression if you use a carriage." His mother pointed out. She had turned around and was now leaning on the doorframe, watching him pull clothes messily out of his dresser.

"I'm only going there to ask a few questions. I don't need an impression."

His mother rolled her eyes but said nothing and swept out of the room.

The rest of the morning Holm spent taking a shower, getting dressed, and eating breakfast and by the end of the morning, Holm was in an overall better mood. His mother's cooking was good, but he always enjoyed having Cook make food. It was always professionally done and delicious. After wards, he went outside to the front of the manor and had the footman alert the stable boy to bring a horse around.

"Scratch that, Hobs. Were taking the carriage.' Holm heard his father's voice behind him and turned. His father walked up to him, dressed in a suit. He ran his gaze over Holm's somewhat plain t-shirt and jeans.

"What are you doing?" Holm asked, irritated.

"What are you wearing?" His father countered, his hands in his pockets.

"Clothes. And you're not coming with me." Holm responded dryly.

His father's eyes narrowed. He looked up as the carriage came around the corner of the Manor and pulled to a stop in front. "Your lucky were running late or I'd insist you change your clothes. Let's go." He said, stepping up and pulling open the door of the carriage.

"You're not coming!" Holm wailed slightly.

"I have some business at the Council Hall anyway." His father replied in a calm tone. "And I told Councilwoman Magdalena I would escort you as far as the Council Hall. I won't be in the actually appointment with you." He explained, stepping aside so Holm could climb up into the carriage.

"Fine." Holm relented moodily, turning to his father as he climbed up into the carriage as well and said a few short words to the driver. Abruptly the carriage began to move. "So her name is Councilwoman Magdalena?"

"Yes. She is the vampire Council Representative and has been since the Downworlders instatement into the Council."

"How much does she know about Clary?"

"I don't know." His father answered in an unsure tone. "When I mentioned Clary's name, she seemed to recognize it, but didn't say much. She did agree rather quickly to the appointment, though, so I'm assuming she knows something."

In the carriage it took a good twenty minutes to reach Alicante and another five to weave through morning traffic and reach the Council Hall. His father escorted him through the door and up to the receptionist's desk. Holm was now slightly glad his father had come along. He wasn't sure he would have wanted to speak with the snappy receptionist again. His father told him that everything was being taken care of and left to attend to his business. Holm was told that Councilwoman Magdalena was in a meeting at the moment and made to wait in the lounge. After half-an-hour had passed and his patience was seriously wearing thin, he was finally escorted into another room. It wasn't a small office or sitting room as Holm had anticipated. Instead he was taken into a huge, empty trial room. All around were theater-like seats where he assumed the jury usually sat and towards the front of the room, a section of seats for the council. In the middle of the room, on the floor where he thought the accused must stand, was a desk and two chairs, placed somewhat randomly. The receptionist left him there before he could turn and question her about the nature of the meeting room and he glanced around awkwardly before sitting in a chair in front of the desk.

The silence of the huge room bothered him a little and his mind was off, busy thinking of Clary's diary, when the sound of a door opening somewhere in the room startled him from his reverie. He jumped and turned to see a tall, slim woman with pretty, long blond hair sweep into the room and approached him, wearing a neat suit with slim pants. Her skin was deathly pale and her eyes a disturbing shade of red. Despite her slim, willow-like appearance, her face was severe and only made more so by the blunt, straight cut of her bangs, which stopped just under her angled eyebrows.

"Well, now, you are Holm Lightwood I suppose?" She said, sitting in the seat behind the desk across from him.

"I am." He replied with a nod. "And you are Councilwoman Magdalena?"

"I am." She answered with a slight smirk. "I am a busy woman, Mr. Lightwood, so I would appreciate making this meeting brief. I agreed to it merely because of my acquaintance with your father and my connection with that which I believe you have come to me today about." She explained, folding her hands together and resting her chin atop them. "I believe you have a few questions to ask me?"

"Yes." Holm said, quelling a sarcastic retort to her comments. "About my great-great-grandmother, Clarissa Lightwood?"

"Ah, yes. I knew her, though believe it or not I'd never spoken with her. They called her Morgenstern still when I first heard of her."

"Yes. It was Valentine's name." Holm said.

Councilwoman Magdalena nodded. "He was an evil man. I fought in the Battle of Brocelind Plains, in fact, the night he died. He owed me many lives. I am glad he got what he deserved, in the end. What is it you wish to know?"

"I just… want to know more. I discovered her diary and was hoping to speak with someone who might have known her personally."

"Do you have the diary with you?"

Holm hesitated before answering. "I do. Here." He said, pulling it from his lap and sliding it across the desk.

Councilwoman Magdalena didn't touch the diary, but leaned over to peer at the picture of Clary and Jace on the cover. "Yes, that is Clarissa." She said with a nod. "I'm sorry to say you've come to the wrong person, if you want to talk to someone who knew her personally." The Councilwoman said with a sympathetic expression. Holm felt his heart drop a little, but it suddenly stopped its decent when she paused and her face lit up a little in realization. "Wait, no. That's wrong." She reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. "I didn't know her personally, but I know someone alive today who did." She scribbled a name and address on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk to him. Holm picked up the paper and looked at it. Above the address, which was for somewhere in Brooklyn, was printed in the Councilwoman's elegant, slanted handwriting, 'Magnus Bane'.

"Who is Magnus Bane?" Holm questioned, his eyebrows furrowed. He wondered if it was possibly the same Magnus he had read about mentioned in Clary's diary.

"He is a warlock. I am an acquaintance of his, but I have not spoken to him since the night of the celebration part after Valentine's fall over one hundred years ago. But he was close to you great-great-grandmother." Her expression became troubled after glancing at the paper with Magnus's address. "I'm not sure that address will yield any results. No one knows where Magnus Bane is now. But that is where he was living at the time."

"Can I send a message to this address?" Holm questioned, peering down at the paper.

The Councilwoman tilted her head in thought. "I think you could, but I cant be sure whether or not he even lives there still. If you want my advice, I would just send the message directly to him."

Holm's eyes widened a little. "Can I do that?"

She nodded. "Yes, with a tracking rune. It's good for emergencies, but can be inconvenient if the person you're sending it to in question receives it at an inappropriate time or place for them."

"That doesn't matter. How do I do it?"

"It is generally one of the last things a Nephilim learns at the Academy or training, or so Im told. Judging from your lack of knowledge, I would assume you have not yet studied it yet." She slid the pad of paper and pen across the desk towards him. "Write your message and I will have it sent for you, as a favor to the Lightwoods."

"No offence, Councilwoman, but I have no immediate desire to owe any favors to anyone." He said, not completely able to keep his contempt at the idea to himself.

The Councilwoman sniffed. "If your great-great-grandmother truly was close to Magnus Bane as I think, then it will be a favor for a friend. There will be no need to repay me."

Holm was not so sure, but he nodded and bent over and wrote a quick message to Magnus Bane, asking if they could perhaps meet up in the next few days and speak. He then folded the paper and handed it to the Councilwoman while he stood. Councilwoman Magdalena stood as well and Holm bowed his head so swiftly it looked almost like a nod. He couldn't stand having to lower his head to others.

"Thank you, Councilwoman."

"You're welcome. And I hope you learn some things on this quest of yours, Mr. Lightwood."

He was going to respond. He was going to ask what she meant, and that the word quest seemed like a bit of an overstatement, but she had already swept out of the room.

* * *

There is Chapter 3! I bet you were expecting her to say Simon's name, weren't you? Don't worry, he will show up soon enough. :D Reviews are better than Twilight. (OMG!!)

Look forward to the next chapter! Alot of stuff will be happening. :D And for the record, MarineLullaby, Klondike bars are the AWESOMEST ice cream bar to ever be invented. Seriously, the guy who came up with them should get a Nobel Prize.


	4. One Hundred Years Later

Here is chapter four, everyone. Thank you again for all the reviews. They are what keep me writing! I'm sorry this chapter took so long to post. This week is Final Exams for me before winter break and I'm a little stressed. This chapter was a little more difficult to write, but I think it's my favorite so far. It's certainly longer than any other chapter I've done for this story so far. And it was very important to the story line, as well as to Clary and Jace's lives. I had to decide what would make most sense for them to happen after CoG. I also did a lot of editing for it. It was actually originally a lot longer, but I thought it stretched the chapter out unnecessarily and made it boring. So this is a condensed version, and it is actually better than the first.

Enjoy!

**All characters except for Holm, his mother, and his father belong to Cassandra Clare, as well as any settings (Alicante, Idris, ect.). Idea/Plot belongs to me. **

---------------

Two days after Holm's appointment with Holm had his father inquire about the message at his work and whether or not it had been successfully sent. His father came back later that day to announce that the message had been sent but there had yet to be any sort of reply. Days passed. Holm impatiently waited for a reply while going through Clary's diary. Five days later, however, there still was none and Holm was thoroughly furious. He continually asked his father if he was absolutely sure that the message had been sent and by the fifth day, his father was almost as frustrated as Holm, which was saying something. Holm sat out in the Manor's garden with Clary's diary in his lap, contemplating what to do. The Academy was starting up in four days. He was very quickly running out of time. Once training at the Academy began he would have no time to spare for another six months, even to browse through Clary's diary. He was the school star. He was captain of the dueling club. He got the top grades in all classes. He was the best at sports. All the Professors loved him. And he was not about to lose that status as long as he had to go to the Academy. Meaning if he didn't act then, he would not be able to do anything about this Magnus Bane ordeal for half a year, until graduation.

He shot up from his seat on the stone bench in the garden, Clary's diary gripped in his hand. What was he doing? He was not the type to merely sit around and wait. He strode through the garden and yanked open the back door of the house, thoroughly starling the kitchen staff. He stomped through the Manor and ran up the stairs. His stride slowed as he approached his parents study, and through the closed doors he could hear their voices slightly muffled by the wood.

"But Ilex, I'm worried. He's become completely obsessed with that diary…" His mother's voice said through the door. Holm paused outside and listened carefully.

"Worried about what, Ailim? I for one am completely relieved that he's become interested in something other than himself." His father replied.

"But, that's all he thinks about nowadays, that diary…"

"And least he's not constantly thinking about himself anymore."

"Oh, I suppose—"

Holm snorted softly and decided to just disregard everything he had said. I do not constantly think of myself, he thought. He was about to reach for the knob and throw the door open, but caught himself. His mother would raise hell if he just barged in. So he raised his hand and knocked softly on the door instead. "Hey, it's me! I gotta ask you guys something!"His parent's voices abruptly fell quiet for a short moment and then he heard his mother's soft voice, "Come in."

He opened the door and stepped into the study, the diary tucked under his arm. His parents were turned in their seats on their expensive plush sofa and looking at him with their arms over the back of the seat. "Holm. What is it?" His mother asked sweetly, seemingly unsure whether he had been listening or not.

Holm ignored their tone and walked around the sofa to stand in front of them. "Mom, Dad, I want to ask you something."

"A question?" His father asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. His expression was weary.

Holm straightened. "No. Rather, a request?" He caught his parents flash a quick glance at each other before looking back at him.

"And what is this request?" His mother asked, her expression gone from wary to guarded. It was extremely rare for Holm to ask for anything. Usually, he just took.

"I want to go to the mundane world." He saw his parent's eyes widen almost comically in response and he was quick to add, "Only for a few days."

"Why on earth do you want to go there, Holm?" His mother demanded. His father was silent, but Holm caught him glancing towards the diary.

"It's been almost a week since I sent a message to that Magnus Bane and he still hasn't replied. The new term at the Academy starts in four days." Holm explained. "I have to talk to him before that, because I won't be able to during the school year. So since he hasn't replied to my message, I want to go find him."

"That is rather rash, Holm. What's wrong with waiting until term is over?" His mother asked almost angrily.

"That won't work." Holm replied with fervor. "I have questions. I can't wait six months for them to be answered."

"You don't even know where this Magnus Bane is!"

"But I have a start." He held up the paper given to him by Councilwoman Magdalena with Magnus Bane's address on it.

"A start means nothing. For all you know, he is halfway around the world." His mother replied snappily.

"But that's what portals are for."

"You cannot count on portals for travel." His mother pointed out in frustration. "There are very few and only warlocks can make new ones. And it takes a lot to get permission to put up another."

"But you guys can handle that, you work at the Council Hall, for Gods sakes!"

"Holm we can't just pull strings every time you want—"

"Now, Ailim, I say we let him go." His father finally put it.

His mother's head snapped around to look at him. "What?"

"I don't think it's a problem. We can get enough clearance to open one portal that will take him to the address the Councilwoman gave him."

"But, Ilex, what about his school? The term is about to start, he can't just go wandering off in some filthy mundane city—"

"I see no problem as long as he is back before the term starts."

His mother seemed to fume for a few moments. She sighed after a while and seemed to contemplate it. Then she turned and spoke to Holm, "Fine, I suppose. But you do have school. If you can be back in three days," his mother held up three slim fingers, her expression stern, "you can go." She finished.

"Three days?" Holm asked, warily.

"If you're not back by then," His mother warned, "we will confiscate your steele."

"What?!" Holm shouted, outraged. "That's ridiculous! How am I supposed to train without it?"

"You won't." His mother said simply.

Holm fumed for a few moments but relented. He huffed and nodded. "Fine. Thank you." He managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth. "How soon can you get the portal open?"

His parents glanced at each other and stood up. "Tomorrow afternoon, the earliest." His father replied. "We still have to get clearance and contact a warlock."

Holm sighed. Damn. That cut out several good hours he could spend searching. "Ok." He replied anyway. He turned and, with his parents watching hi, fled the room.

* * *

The dirt and trash strewn streets of the Brooklyn slums had not changed much in the last hundred or so years. The only difference was the now many crumbling and abandoned buildings that had been turning up more and more as of late. Holm stood in the middle of the street, his back pack slung over his shoulder. One hand gripped the strap of his bag and the other held the paper with Magnus Bane's address on it, which he was currently standing in front of. Or what was left of it, anyway.

It was clear no one was living in it now. The old apartment complex was completely gutted and it looked as though the roof had caved in a long, long time ago. Holm huffed angrily and stepped towards the house, his feet splashing water from the wet street. It was cold. The bottoms of his jeans were soaked. And the whole place was trash strewn. Not a very good first impression of the mundane world. He could not see how people lived in the place.

Stepping carefully up the steps of what used to be the apartment building, he pushed aside the rotting wood door and stepped carefully over fallen bricks and debris. Water dripped from bricks and crevices in the walls down onto his head. He clapped a hand over his fine blond curls and looked up. It was dark and there was no moon, but there was enough light from the streets to be able to see. Clouds covered the sky, explaining why everything was wet, and the combined sounds of dripping water and scurrying rats was an eerie sound. He stood at the doorway and looked around what must have once been a large living room. The appeared to be a bar against one wall and several sets of couches and sofas with coffee tables dotted the room. Holm thought the place must have once been used for partying. What was left of the stairs could still be seen, but there were no other floors but the ground floor now.

He stepped over the remains of a chair and crossed the room, glass and rock crunching under his feet, to the bar. The counter was covered in paper, glass, rain, and rubble. Carefully he swept clean one small section of the bar and put his hands on it. He leaned over and peered over, trying to find anything that had any sort of connection with Magnus Bane. If he could find something of his, he could use a tracking spell. Hands placed stably on the counter of the bar, he leapt over it with ease and landed with a disturbing crunch sound on the other end as rubble crumbled underfoot. The back of the bar was covered in broken glass from the wall behind, where he assumed must have held drinks and glasses.

His eyes scanned the ruins of the apartment building with dismay. There didn't seem to be anything of use, only broken glass, brick, and old rotting furniture. He kicked aside a broken bottle of wine and sighed angrily, running a hand through his damp hair. He jumped back over the bar and proceeded to wander around the room, kicking aside objects, and scanning the area carefully for anything that might be of use.

"Hey kid!" A voice spoke suddenly. Holm whipped around and spotted, through a huge hole in the wall where a window must have once been, at an old man pushing along a shopping cart full of random objects. He waved a cane, which had previously been lying across the shopping cart, at him. "Whaddya think yer doin there?"

"None of your business, old man." Holm replied angrily, his hand in his pockets.

"'Spose it aint." The old man shrugged. "No one been livin there for a good thirty years. The last guy moved away when I was still a young man."

Holm briefly wondered what his definition of a young man was. "Do you remember who lived here last? What was his name?"

"Ah, hell'f I know. I just remember he was a queer fella. Literally. And he looked funny as he acted. Blue streaks in his hair," The old man stated, gesturing wildly towards his own head. "And eyes like such a light brown, youda though' they were yella."

Bingo. He wasn't sure at all about the hair, but the fact that the old man suggested the last man to live in the crumbling apartment had had strange eyes and was gay pointed towards Magnus Bane. Holm vaguely remembered the first entry of Clary's diary he had read, and recalled her mentioning Magnus trying to convince some Alec person to move in with him, Alec being a boy's name.

"Was his name Magnus?"

"Ah, hell'f I know." The old man repeated. "It was thirty years ago."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Ah, shit, someplace in the suburbs, I think." The old man grumbled. "Hell'f—"

"Yeah, yeah, hell if you know." Holm finished impatiently. "Somewhere in the suburbs" didn't get him anywhere. He was about to turn away when his eyes narrowed and he glared at the old man suspiciously. "How do you know all this, old man?"

"Don't you look at me like that, you little shit." The old man waved his cane at Holm, his shopping cart rattling. Holm felt his anger flare. "I been livin in this here neighborhood since I was a boy. I know."

"Why can't you tell me where the guy who lived here went, then?" Holm snapped back angrily.

"Ah, hell, I don't remember the details!" The old man grumbled. "Mmm… Midwood. I think it was Midwood."

"Are you sure?" Holm asked suspiciously.

"Ah, hell'f I know."

"Ok, ok!" Holm shouted and sighed with frustration. Midwood. That still didn't help much.

"Ah, hurry and get yer blond ass outta here." The old man spat and shuffled away.

Holm turned and went back inside. Midwood was a start, but he wasn't completely sure he could trust what the old man had said. He didn't think the man had been lying, but Holm wasn't sure he had been exactly right in the head. A breeze picked up and blew through the crumbling walls of the old apartment building, fluttering papers around the room, and Holm caught sight of something he hadn't before.

In a couch, stuffed between two rotting, moldy cushions, was a book. Holm raised an eyebrow and walked over. It was stuffed tightly into the cushions, he discovered as he carefully pulled it out. Meaning someone must have put it here, he thought. It was just a plain old book about agriculture, he found to his disappointment, but as he was flipping through the soggy, blurred pages, a paper stuffed within the book caught his attention. He plucked it out and looked at it. Even after thirty years, it was still readable, though blurred and damp, having been protected by the pages of the book. It looked to be an advertisement for cooking products, but scribbled in a messy, slanted handwriting was some address in Midwood.

Holm smiled a little. "Gotcha, you little monster." He said to himself, tucking the paper into his pocket and turning away.

* * *

The address, he found, led him to an old suburban home on the outskirts of Midwood. It was a plain old cookie cutter house and the exact look alike of all the other houses, except it was much less well kept. The difference was the numbers printed on the mailboxes, and what a difference it made.

Holm glanced down at the paper he had discovered in the old crumbling apartment building. The numbers were slanted and the handwriting was messy, so he had had some trouble reading it at first, but it was true. The numbers there were the same as the ones on the mailbox. He prayed silently as he walked up to the door that Magnus had either lived here before or still did.

He gulped in a breath, raised his fist, and banged loudly on the door.

There was a moment of silence and Holm banged again. Suddenly, he heard movement and an annoyed, angry, male voice shouted through the door, "Go away! For god sakes, it's two in the morning!"

"I'm looking for Magnus Bane!" Holm backed up from the door a step and shouted through.

The door swung open abruptly and a man stood in the door. He was tall and thin, with black hair that had blue streaks running through and big yellow eyes with the pupils of a cat. "I'm retired." He snapped angrily. "I'm not doing any more work. I don't care if you've got some horrible disease, or you need a portal, or your stupid friend got his head stuck up some magical tube or chopped off his hand with a steele, Shadowhunter. Go away!" The door abruptly slammed in Holm's face.

Furious, Holm banged on the door again. "I don't have a horrible disease, I don't need a portal, and none of my friends are stupid!" Holm shouted back through the door. "I'm here to ask about Clary!!"

There was abrupt silence. Magnus sounded as if he had frozen. A moment later, the front door swung quietly open and Magnus stood there, his arms crossed, an angry but curious expression on his face. "How do you know about Clary?"

"This." Holm swung his back pack around and dug out Clary's diary from within. He shoved it at Magnus who took it with a shocked expression. "It's her diary. I found it in my attic."

"Your attic?" Magnus repeated skeptically, turning the diary over with a cautious expression and holding it out, away from him as if he were afraid it would explode.

"Yeah." Holm said. "I'm her great-great-grandson."

Magnus's head snapped around and he looked at Holm with a serious expression. As Magnus got his first good look at him, his strange eyes widened and then he groaned. "God, you look exactly like him!"

Holm crossed his arms. "I'm assuming you're talking about Jace."

"You act like him too, though not nearly as charming." Magnus grumbled and said the last word with great sarcasm. "So, what about Clary?" Magnus prompted. "She's been dead for over forty years. No one even remembers her anymore. Why come asking now?"

"Because I just found her diary now. Well not now, but about a week and a half ago. I sent you a message days ago but you never replied so I came to find you." Holm replied bitterly.

"The message from Magdalena?" Magnus inquired, an eyebrow raised. "I don't open and especially I don't answer messages from the Council anymore. They always ask me to do something for them. I'm retired." He repeated with furrowed eyebrows.

"Well, that message was about me." Holm snapped. "I was looking for someone close to Clary personally that I could ask questions, and Councilwoman Magdalena referred me to you."

Magnus's eyebrows raised and he turned his head and grumbled something Holm thought had to do with a "Simon" to himself. Then he turned back. "We were good friends throughout her life but I wasn't that close to her." Magnus informed. He contemplated for a second. "Come back tomorrow." He said suddenly.

"What?!" Holm asked, outraged.

"Come back tomorrow." Magnus repeated snappily. "And I'll answer any questions you have."

"Why not now?"

"Because it's two o' clock in the morning, that's why!" Magnus snapped. "And I have some things I need to consider first."

Holm fumed for a second. "How do I know youll still be here when I get back?"

Magnus's eyes narrowed to slits and the effect was quite scary, even to Holm. A moment later, however, Magnus had taken a ring from his finger and tossed it at Holm. Holm caught it with some surprised and turned it over in his hand, peering down at it. It was a simple silver ring, with swirling runes and designs carved into it. He saw printed on the inside of the band was the words, _For Magnus. Alec._

"Alec…" Holm mumbled to himself. He looked back up at Magnus who was standing with his arms crossed again, glaring. "Clary mentions him and you in her diary."

"Alec was her brother-in-law and my… boyfriend." He eventually said, apparently struggling for the right word. Holm blinked and Magnus sighed, uncrossed his arms, and rolled his eyes. "He died a little before Clary did. Just use that ring to track me if you think I've run away, which I won't. Believe it or not, I actually want to know some more about this. I'll be wanting that back." He said, pointing a manicured finger at the ring. "Guard it with your life, Shadowhunter."

Holm gripped the ring in his hand and slipped it into his pocket. "My name is Holm. Holm Lightwood."

Magnus raised an eyebrow. Holm nodded his head, turned away, and began walking down the road.

* * *

At one in the afternoon the next day, Holm was again standing in front of Magnus Bane's house. As Magnus Bane had promised, there hadn't been a need for the ring, and it was still safely in Holm's pocket, untouched since Magnus had given it to him.

After he had left Magnus's house, he had used some mundane money his mother had given him to spend the night in a motel. It was by far the worst night of his life. The bed had been lumpy, the sheets scratchy, and Holm was now thoroughly cranky. He hoped that this discussion with Magnus would lift his mood.

His knock on the door was answered immediately after. The door swung open and Magnus stood there, dressed in baggy rainbow cargos and a blue glittery shirt that matched the streaks in his hair. Holm blinked, a little shocked at the attire, but didn't have time to comment before Magnus held out his hand, his other hand on his hip. "The ring?"

Holm was lost for a moment before Magnus snapped his fingers in his face. His eyes snapped wide in realization. "Oh, here." He dug in his pocket for a moment, mumbling and held out the ring. Magnus took it and examined it carefully before eyeing Holm and then slipping it back onto his finger. He stepped back and held the door open for Holm.

"Well, come in. There's someone else I called here too."

Holm shouldered his backpack, which contained Clary's diary plus a few other things, and stepped inside the house. It was decidedly plain, a stark contrast to the very flashy clothes and appearance of Magnus. "Someone else?" He asked, an eyebrow raised.

Magnus gestured for Holm to follow him and led him down a hall. They came into what appeared to be a den of sorts. There was a small fireplace on one wall, a bar in the corner, and two plush leather couches. What part of the walls that did not hang a portrait or the latest flat screen TV, bookshelves that were stuffed to capacity with books were pushed neatly against the wall. And sitting on one of the couches, Holm saw, was someone else. He turned as Holm and Magnus entered the room and Holm saw that he was a vampire. His skin was pale and his hair was shaggy and a dark brown. His large eyes were pitch black and wide. He stood as Magnus and Holm entered and raised an eyebrow at Holm. "That's him?" He said, pointing to Holm.

Magnus nodded. "That's him."

"I am here you know." Holm snapped out.

"We know." The vampire only said, examining Holm from his spot near the couch curiously. He turned to Magnus. "You were right. He does look like Jace."

Magnus huffed as he threw himself into an arm chair. "Of course I was right."

"I am here!" Holm repeated. "Can you not talk as if I couldn't hear everything you are saying? Who's this?" He added, turning to Magnus while gesturing to the vampire.

"This," Magnus began, his expression slightly pestered as he pointed a finger lamely at the vampire. "is Simon Lewis."

Holm raised his eyebrows. "Simon, as in the Simon mentioned in Clary's diary?"

"I guess." Simon replied, shrugging. "Or I would hope so. Clary and I were friends for her entire life, ever since we were both small children. As kids we did everything together."

Holm was abruptly delighted. He turned to Magnus. "Is this why you sent me home last night?"

"I sent you home last night because it was _two in the morning_." Magnus snapped. He ran a hand down his face. "But yeah, it's part of the reason. And now I'm sleep deprived."

"But—" Holm suddenly realized something. His eyes snapped over to Simon, shocked. "Y-you're a vampire! How can you be out during the day?" He asked, stunned. His eyes flickered over to the sunlight pouring in through the window and Simon standing in its direct path.

"I'll explain that in a moment. Sit down for now, and let me see that diary." Simon commanded, and Holm sat in an arm chair opposite the couch Simon sat on. He dug the diary out of his back pack and handed it to Simon, who took it with wonder-filled eyes.

Simon flipped it open and read the inside cover. His eyes grew wide as he recognized the handwriting. "I don't believe it." He whispered, flipping through the pages. "It really is hers. The handwriting… I wouldn't forget it if I lived a thousand years."

"I wanted to ask some questions…" Holm began, leaning back.

"Yeah, what questions?" Simon said, lifting his gaze reluctantly from the diary.

"Like… what sort of person she was. My parents said she was famous for… something. And there was something about how she defeated Valentine."

"She did. She did defeat Valentine. But she wasn't only famous for that." Simon said, handing the dairy back. "Mostly, people knew about her because of her ability."

"Yeah… I read in an article in the Library of Alicante that she could create runes." Holm struggled to keep from scoffing at the idea. "But that's impossible."

"Not for Clary it wasn't." And Simon proceeded to tell the whole of Clary's story, up until the first diary entry Holm had read. Holm listened intently, increasingly shocked and surprised at the new information, but thoroughly pleased that finally he was aware of half of the stuff Clary spoke about in her diary and no longer had to wonder. Holm discovered that his great-great-grandmother had indeed been raised as a mundane, explaining her statements about how she was too old to begin training at the Academy. He learned of how Clary had once thought her and Jace to be siblings, but only after they had fallen in love. He learned how Magnus was connected with Clary, how Simon had become a vampire, and how Jace had been meant to die, but had been brought back by Clary's wish to Raziel. He learned that it was indeed true that she had been able to create runes, and exclaimed over the mark on Simon's forehead. He learned about Alec and Isabelle and even Sebastian. He learned everything and even hours later Simon was still speaking with Magnus putting in comments every so often. Eventually, Simon came to the point at which the diary began and explained what happened afterwards.

"After Valentine, Clary and Jace went to the Institute in Brooklyn. Alec and Isabelle's parents were running it and had volunteered to get Clary started on her training. Jace followed her, of course and life was quiet as it can be for Shadowhunters for many years. When I was a senior in college they got married and moved back to Idris. As a wedding gift, Maryse and Robert helped fund a project to build them a manor house in the country, where you apparently still live today."

"Alec moved in with me, of course, and we spent the rest of his life together." Magnus said, examining the ring on his finger with a somewhat pained expression.

"And Isabelle lived with me for a few years before she got around to physically appearing older than me. She never did marry." Simon said thoughtfully. "After Robert and Maryse died, she took up running the Brooklyn Institute and I visited her there just about every day. She was always lonely." He added sadly. "And I missed her all the time. We enjoyed each other's company." He shook his head, apparently trying to dispel any memories.

"How many kids did they have?" Holm asked, curious. He wanted to know how exactly he was descended from Clary.

"Clary and Jace? Seven." Simon said and Holm felt his eyes widen. "Imogene, Max, Lydia, Ruis and Stephen were twins, and Dani Eve was their youngest. Their first one died a day after it was born. They were cute kids. I watched them grow up, and then their children afterwards. I stopped keeping track, though, after Clary and Jace were both dead."

"When did Clary die?"

"Clary… died ten years before Jace." Simon said, his voice heavy. "I missed her every day, but Jace was hurt worse by it. I think he loved Clary even more than his children. And Jace was an amazing father. He rarely spoke after she died, though."

"What did she die of?" Holm hesitated before asking, not completely sure whether or not the question was appropriate.

"She just got sick one year and didn't get better. She was…" Simon turned to Magnus for confirmation. "Sixty… six? Sixty seven? I don't know." As Magnus shrugged, Simon turned back to Holm. "I never really kept track. When you live on forever as a sixteen year old, you don't really count the years that go by."

"Jace died ten years later, exactly on the day Clary did." Magnus put in. "They're buried on the outskirts of Alicante."

Holm sighed and leaned back in his seat. It was good to finally know at least something. He was fairly sure it wasn't everything, but he could learn as he went along. His eyes glanced at the clock and he saw it was nearly seven o clock at night and darkness had crept in outside. His eyes widened in alarm. He had to get back to Alicante as soon as possible or he wouldn't get back in time. "I have to go…" He said and took the diary from the coffee table.

Magnus glanced up in alarm. "What?"

"I promised my parents that I would be back in three days to start the new school term at Alicante." Holm explained. "It was the only thing I could get them to agree to, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to come at all."

"Your parents?" Simon inquired curiously.

"Ilex and Ailim Lightwood." Holm said.

"Ilex. I wonder which of Clary's children he is descended from." Magnus murmured to himself.

"Do you have to go?" Simon asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

Holm blinked and his face took on a confused expression. "Yeah. I wish I didn't have to." He said with complete honesty. As much as he didn't like Brooklyn, he was reluctant to leave. He wanted to know everything. If he had questions, the only people he could go to were Magnus and Simon. When he went to the Academy, he wouldn't get to chance to speak to either of them for at least six months until the term ended again.

"Maybe you don't have to." Magnus said suddenly, sitting up. Simon and Holm's eyes snapped towards him. "What about Nicolas and Trif?"

"Cromwell?" Simon asked, his eyebrows raised. "Do you think…?"

"Maybe. They're about to go away on business and they don't really want to leave Frances alone…"

"Ok." Holm cut in, holding his hands up. "What are you talking about?"

"Were talking about the Brooklyn Institute." Magnus informed. "It's run by the Cromwells now. They used to teach at the Academy. They trained their daughter Frances themselves. And, coincidentally, they are distantly connected to the Lightwoods."

"What?" Holm asked, surprised. "How?

"Clary's aunt, Amatis, married Damon Cromwell a few years after Valentine's death."

"So what about them?" Holm asked, shrugging his shoulders.

"Maybe you would consider living there and being trained there as an alternative."

…"What?"

* * *

Lolol. There is it! I know theres no diary entries in this one, but it was so long already by the time I had finished it and I couldn't find a good place to fit one in. Not to worry, though! The next chapter I'm planning to have at least two, and I'm also tossing around the idea of posting a seperate fanfiction with _just_ entries from Clary's diary. It will be a sort of companion fanfiction for this one, if I get around to it. What do you think? Plus theres a new character I've been dying to get started on coming your way. :D Things are begining to get interessssting. Muahahahaha.

So, Holm's parent's names are revealed. I hadn't realized until writing this chapter that I had no clue what their names are, but I think they suit them well. And Simon shows up for the first time! This is the way I had imagined it since I decided to make this longer than a one-shot. I'm sorry if it's not the way most people imagine it. But this is how it happens in my head!

Reviews are better than Wendy's French fries dipped in chocolate frosty. :D YUM YUM


	5. A Teacher

**All characters except for Holm, his mother, and his father belong to Cassandra Clare, as well as any settings (Alicante, Idris, ect.). Idea/Plot belongs to me. **

Ok people, you may go ahead and pelt the rotten tomatoes. I don't suppose any excuse will make it any better that I got this chapter out so late. Christmas vacation came and went and life is as busy as it normally is. I had this whole chapter half way typed up when my sister ran by and accidentally unplugged my charger from my fried lap top battery. So I lost it and was bummed out for about a week until I got started again. I can only hope that this chapter makes up for the time. There is much to come in the days ahead for Holm. There is a new character introduced in this chapter that I've been dying to reveal. Here it is!!

I got up this morning, having had plenty of sleep thanks to the fact that my school closed today because of the cold, and fixed all the spelling and grammar mistakes in it. So it should be alot less frustrating to read now. Enjoy!!

* * *

Holm stepped out of the portal into Lightwood Manor's yard, followed by Magnus and Simon, who upon setting their feet on the grassy lawn, began peering around curiously.

"God, it's been years since I've been here. It hasn't changed at all." Magnus said quietly.

"Last time I was here was for Hilden's first birthday." Simon noted in an equally quiet tone.

Holm paused in heading towards the house and turned. "Hilden?"

"Clary's youngest, Dani Eve's first child." Simon explained.

"Holm!" Holm snapped back around to face his house and saw his mother on the large stone verandah of the front of his house. She peered down the long yard at him, squinting across the lawn. "Holm, is that you?"

"Yeah!" Holm shouted back. He turned back quickly towards Simon and Magnus, signaling them to follow. Then he turned and strode down the long drive towards his house. "Where's Dad?" He asked as he walked up the stone steps and stood before his mother.

"Your father had to attend some business at the Council Hall… something about demons." She said, her voice trailing off as she apparently peered over his shoulder at the approaching Magnus and Simon. Her eyes widened. "You brought people back with you? Who?" She hissed quietly.

"Mam, my name is Simon Lewis. And this is the warlock, Magnus Bane." Simon said, still several feet away.

Ailim blinked and he could see her blushing, her face appearing flustered. "O-oh, a vampire. Please forgive me. Nice to meet you. And you, Magnus. I've heard much about you." She reached a hand out and shook Magnus and Simons hands. "You are the warlock my son set out to find, yes?" She inquired to Magnus.

Magnus nodded importantly. "Thats right. "

"Well, come in, please."

Holm strolled after his mother, who nodded to the footman as she led the group through the door and into the foyer. She took them down the hall, successfully ignoring Holm's presence, turning her head as she walked to speak to Magnus and Simon. "My husband is away on council business, I'm afraid. He won't be able to speak with you." She said, stopping at the door to a parlor. Two maids stood on either side of the door, their hands folded complacently in front of them, their heads bowed. They moved to pull the double doors open and stood aside while Holm strolled in ahead of his mother. He flopped down on a cushy arm chair, tossing his bag to the butler who stood next to him and caught it with a somewhat perturbed expression. "I'm afraid youll have to settle for just me today." Ailim added with a smile. She nodded to the maids who curtsied as she walked in, followed by Magnus and Simon.

The maids, who had followed them inside the room with a wave from Ailim, stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Holm's mother as she instructed them to retrieve tea and sandwiches. They curtsied and backed out of the room, pulling the doors shut behind them. Holm quirked an eyebrow and noted, not for the first time, that his mother was uniquely good at instructing the servants as well as any high-born Nephilim. _Must be the bossiness_, he thought to himself sourly as she came over and looked at him sternly where he sat in the arm chair. He sighed, lifted himself up, and threw himself down on the couch in-between Magnus and Simon while his mother took her seat in the arm chair.

Ailim set her hands neatly in her lap and looked at them curiously, but her expression clearly meant business. "Well now, gentlemen, I must be honest with you, I am curious as to the reason you're here. My son clearly was able to find you, and I expressly instructed him to have all his questions done within the time I allowed." She said sternly.

Holm felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He opened his mouth to snap back, but was interrupted as Magnus spoke. "And he did, Ailim. Actually, it was me who asked to speak to you." He said with a haughty expression. Ailim seemed surprised at being addressed by her first name, but didn't seem put off by Magnus's tone of voice. He continued. "The fact of the matter is that I am quite interested in your son."

His mother quirked an eyebrow and her eyes flashed over to Holm. "How so?"

"Clary was my sister-in-law, of sorts. And I was a friend of her mother. I even watched Clary grow up." Magnus said with a serious expression. "Simon here is a childhood friend. Clary's sister-in-law was his wife, so to speak. We were all very close to Clary. And we hadn't heard anything about her and her family in close to a hundred years until Holm."

"I see." His mother said with a genuine sympathetic expression. "But I still don't see-"

"Clary's diary belongs to Holm." Magnus interrupted. "For more reasons than that it is a relic of the Lightwood family. Holm looks almost exactly like Jace. I thought I was seeing a ghost when he showed up at my door. Holm was clearly meant to have it." He finished with a serious expression. "I lost track of the Lightwood family after Clary and Jace had died. The fact is that Simon and I both need that diary around. And that won't happen if Holm goes off to the Academy."

"It's like, hearing Clary again. When you read the pages of the diary, it's like she's standing there again, speaking to you. We didnt even know Clary had written a diary. She kept it a secret even from Jace. So we thought she was lost to us forever." Simon put in, leaning back. "I was human once. I wouldn't have become what I am, a vampire, if it wasn't for Clary." He added, spreading his arms. "Not that I'm saying that that's a good thing. But it allowed me to stay in Clary's world. Only after she died and the years passed like days and gradually people forgot about her did it all begin to seem like a dream. Clary and Jace didn't even seem real anymore. I hadn't even spoken to Magnus for almost twenty years until a few days ago."

"I understand, but Holm cannot just drop out of the academy. He must finish his education." Ailim said, her expression troubled now.

"But of course. A Shadowhunter's education is everything to him. Which brings me to my next suggestion." Magnus piped in, his arms crossed.

"And that is?"

"That Holm be allowed to live and finish his education at the Brooklyn Institute under the supervision of the Cromwells."

"The Cromwells! You're not talking about Nicolas and Trif Cromwell, are you?" His mother exclaimed.

"The very ones."

"But they taught me in my Academy days. I thought they were retired."

"They have agreed to take in Holm as a favor to me." Magnus said.

"Well, this changes things." Ailim said, her expression serious. She turned to Holm. "Is this what you want? Are you sure?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I want this. I still have tons more stuff I want to know. I need to know." Holm replied, his arms crossed.

"But what about your sports, your dueling, your friends?"

"I can hunt demons in Brooklyn. If I have that I don't need to duel. And friends are trivial." He said, his voice going slightly cold. Ailim's eyes flashed with concern, but it was gone a second later.

"If it's what you want… I guess I can't say anything. Especially considering it's the Cromwells." She replied, defeated. Her expression as slightly troubled. "If it was any other people but Professor Trif and Professor Nicolas I probably wouldn't think on it."

"Are you serious? Really? I can go?" Holm asked, more excited than he could remember being in a while.

"I don't see any problem with it." She said, but then hesitated. "Well, perhaps I should speak to your father about it first."

"Speak with me about what?" A voice spoke from the back of the room. Holm's head snapped around to find his father standing by the door, his hair wet from rain, shrugging off a long coat.

"Ilex!" His mother exclaimed, standing. "What are you doing back so early?" She asked, walking over to him and placing her hands on his chest. He griped her by the upper arms and kissed her on the lips lightly, not at all bothered by the fact that they were being watched by their son, a warlock, a vampire, and two maids who stood by the door with trays of tea and cucumber sandwiches.

"I was told to come back." When Ailim's expression became alarmed, he chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not fired or anything." He turned to the maids. "Set it on the table and leave us." He commanded, his noble bearing coming through. The maids did as he said and quickly retreated from the room.

"Why did they tell you to come back?" Ailim asked, her expression concerned.

"I'll explain later." He breathed into her ear and turned back to the rest of them. "What did you want to discuss with me?"

Magnus, Simon, and Ailim explained everything to Ilex while Holm stood by, trying to get a word in but unable to. It was only until his father turned to him and looked at him seriously, his glasses sliding down his nose, that Holm was able to speak. "This is what you want?" His father asked and Holm was startled to see surprise and confusion in his father's face.

"It is." Holm only said, putting aside the sarcastic comment he had been saving.

Ilex's expression abruptly morphed into something else that Holm could not recognize. It was finally decided that Holm could be allowed to live and be educated at the Institute. It was only until the words came out of his father's mouth, however, that the impact of what Holm had just done finally hit him. He never was the type to back out. He was like Jace in that manner, he would learn only later.

* * *

"August 10th, 2007

Dear Diary,

It's been a little over two months since I started my training, if you will call it that. So far all I've been doing is exercising and weight training. In the course of two months, I've gained nearly twenty pounds of muscle. I knew it would be hard, but exercising nonstop for two months can be so boring! Thankfully, yesterday was my last day. I had my final fitness test, passed with flying colors, and now will be concentrating on the combat part of my training. According to Robert, from here on out, I will be trained by Maryse with help from Isabelle and Jace. Alec is busy as always with Magnus, so I haven't seen him around much. He moved in with him two weeks after I started my training, no surprise, and I have to say I'm really happy for them. But they do come by occasionally and watch me with Jace. Maryse says the next part of my training will be concentrating on hand-to-hand combat and has made Isabelle my practice partner.

Training will begin again on Monday, meaning I've been given three days of a break! Yay! Me, Jace, Isabelle, Alec, Magnus and Simon are all going out to celebrate tonight. I'm so excited, I can hardly wait. Of course, at first, all I wanted to do was laze around and sleep the entire three days. But then I remembered that Jace has been holed up at the Institute with me, always watching me train, always carrying me to my bed whenever I fall asleep in the hall (a lot). So Isabelle is taking me shopping in a few minutes to pick out something special for tonight. I'm just jotting this down quickly while she is in the shower. And get this—she's made it so we can go shop in Alicante! Maryse has given us money and obtained a special one-day visa for me to open a portal right into the center of the city. All Maryse had to do was mention my name to get permission. I'm not sure whether I like the idea or not yet. But I do have to admit the advantages.

In other news, I've been given a cat for my birthday. I had always wanted a pet, but the apartment where we lived never allowed them. So Mom and Luke went out to buy one for me as a surprise yesterday. They said that they'd been planning it for a while, and now that I havethe time to care for one, they finally went out and got me one. And it's so pretty! She is a little girl, a grey kitty with these big blue eyes. Her name is Harlow. She is a little skittish, but other than that she gets along pretty well with everyone—well, except Church. Surprisingly enough, Jace absolutely loves her. He is always teasing her, but I found him asleep earlier—taking a nap—with Harlow curled up on his abs. It was so cute (not a word I get to use towards Jace often) I went back out into the hall and giggled myself silly before I ran back to my room, got my sketchbook, and drew a quick sketch of it. But shhh. It's a secret. If Jace knew, he'd be mad.

Oh, Isabelle's out of the shower. I have to go!

Clary. "

Holm sat on the steps leading up to the front door of his house and looked down at the page in the diary. In front of him, his mother was directing servants who were bringing out his numerous suit cases and setting them on the yard in front of the house. Magnus and Simon were being toured through the home by his father. At first Holm had walked around with them before he got tired of it and retreated to read more of the diary. His house was his house, after all. There was nothing new about it, though a every turn Simon and Magus had exclaimed at both how different and how much the same the house was. He couldn't quite grasp the idea that they had been in his home before. He didn't often interact with Downworlders, despite the fact that they could now roam the city as they pleased. One hundred years had changed that, but could still not completely erase the animosity between the two races. He found it a little unreal that both Magnus and Simon had once spoken to, seen, and been friends with the woman whose words had so captured his interest. He supposed he would get used to it.

He heard noise behind him and looked up as his father came and sat down on the steps next to him. "What happened to Magnus and Simon?" Holm asked, carefully shutting the diary.

"I left them with Hobs. They're looking at the garden. I wanted to speak to you." Ilex answered, pulling his glasses from his face and cleaning them with the bottom of his shirt.

"About what?" Holm inquired curiously and a little uneasily. His father didn't often speak to him in so seriously a tone.

"I want you to know that your mothers worried about all this. She thinks your becoming obsessed with the diary." He replied, nodding his head towards it. "But personally I'm glad you're just not obsessed with yourself anymore."

Holm sniffed. "I was never obsessed with myself."

"Ok."

"So why did they send you home early from work?" Holm inquired, glancing sideways at his father.

Ilex was quiet for a brief moment and seemed to shift uncomfortably in his seat before he finally spoke up. "They… think the demons outside Idris were looking for something. The Shadowhunters they sent out came back with reports that as soon as the demons had spotted them they had bailed out of there like bats out of hell."

"That so unusual." Holm muttered to himself.

"I think you were right, Holm." His father said again, his voice dropping as a servant passed by them. "I think someone is controlling the demons. Those demons were mindless. They had to be told to retreat or they would have just attacked those Shadowhunters."

"I told you" Holm replied smugly.

His father shrugged. "I suppose so. But the Council is still reluctant to believe that. They don't want a repeat of Valentine."

"What? Are you kidding me?!" Holm asked, his voice steadily rising in an outraged tone until his father shushed him.

"Shhh!!" Ilex hissed. "That's not what I came to say."

"What? Then what—"

"Shh!" His father shushed him again. "Here it is. Demon levels are on the rise."

"They've been on the rise for centuries." Holm snorted and made to stand. "If that's all—"

His father's hand reached out and snatched him by the sleeve, yanking him back down. "That's not what I meant. I mean the levels of demons popping up all around the world are drastically rising. Just today there was a huge jump in their numbers. Its obvious that someone is bringing them here. Their numbers dont just jump like this. The Council is beginning to slip into a panic."

"How many?" Holm asked slowly, his fists clenching.

"Enough so that even if all the adult Shadowhunters banded together, from all across the globe against all the demons, we would still be severely outnumbered."

"That bad?" Holm breathed, his eyes going wide.

"It's bad, Holm." His father repeated, sighing. He ran a hand over his sleek black hair. "Your mother and I are going back to the Council as soon as you leave."

"Mom knows?"

Ilex shook his head slowly. "No, but she will. I'm telling her later to give you a chance to escape."

"Escape?"

His father let out a soft chuckle. "If you mother finds out that the demon levels have jumped so drastically, she will never let you leave the safety of Alicante."

"Oh, right." Of course. Though his mother knew that he was completely capable as a Shadowhunter, it was true that he was still underage. And his mother will be his mother.

"Come on!" His mother shouted and the two looked out over the yard. She was standing next to Magnus, who was busy opening a portal with Simon standing beside her. He was currently in the process of tossing Holm's trunks through the steadily opening portal.

Ilex and Holm stood, with Holm tucking the book neatly under his arm. "Coming!" He shouted back and started forward. His father stopped him, clapping a hand down on his shoulder.

"One more thing. I'm proud of you, Holm."

Holm turned and blinked. For a moment he just stood there awkwardly. Then he nodded to his father and followed Magnus and Simon through the portal.

* * *

Holm had never been inside or even near an Institute. He had hardly ever even left Idris throughout his life. Now he stood in front of the building he would be living in for the next year or so, in a smelly Mundane city. Magnus stood next to him, his arms crossed, leaning his weight all on one leg so that he was slouched over to one side slightly. The ring of the doorbell could be heard from outside the Institute. It seemed to echo through the building, leading Holm's mind to go off into a string of outrageous imaginations as to how the inside looked. He bounced slightly where he stood, more nervous than he could remember being in a long time. He turned to Magnus. "So, why couldn't Simon come?"

"Simon can come only if he uses a projection. Either way, he can never physically be here because of the fact that he is a vampire." Magnus answered. He sighed with frustration and rang the doorbell again.

"Oh. Right." Of course. Holm kicked himself for not realizing it before.

Suddenly above them, there was the creaking of metal. Holm's gaze jumped upwards as a girl, her hair a fiery red, stuck her head out the window and shouted down, "I'm coming! Jesus Christ on a crutch!" She swore as she ducked her head back in the window.

Magnus had leaned backwards and was preparing to shout back when she had ducked back into the building. He scowled and huffed. Holm imagined that he wasn't used to not having the last word.

He was right. As the door was rapidly swung open, Magnus snapped out, "What kind of Shadowhunter talks like that?"

"My kind. And honestly, don't tell me that you give a hoot about how Shadowhunters should or shouldn't speak." The girl said and Holm's gaze went back to her, his eyes widening as he got his first good look at her. She was thin and tall. Like, really tall. She was probably only two or three inches shorter than Holm. But she didn't appear lanky. She was well proportioned, her silhouette long and willowy. Her skin was pale, like porcelain, and it made her fiery red hair stand out that much more. Her face and hair startled him a bit. It wasn't at all like normal Shadowhunter girls, or at least the ones he knew, all of whom took pride in their ability to keep their looks and still kick ass. This girl didn't look as though she cared what people thought of her or not. But she did look like she kicked ass. Her hair was cropped severely short, so that it was shorter than even Holms hair. It was messy, with tufts sticking out here and there, as though she had just gotten out of bed. Her face was different too. She didn't have soft doe eyes like Lark or wide, searching eyes like his mother. They were sharp and very aware, their color a warm brown. Her features were angular and severe.

At first glance she wasn't very pretty. But upon further inspection, Holm found that it wasn't that she wasn't pretty, her looks were just different. Holm struggled to find a way to place it and decided that she _was_ pretty; beautiful, even. Not doe pretty like Lark was but more subtle… dangerous was the word for it. It was a different sort of beautiful. Like, rose beautiful.

"Are you done?" A voice snapped at him. Holm shook his head out of his reverie and glanced around. He discovered that Magnus had already strode into the Institute and was standing behind the girl, who stood with one hand leaning against the doorway. Her severe eyes were narrowed at him.

His eyebrows furrowed and his head came back, indignant. "Done with what?"

"Staring. Quit it." She answered, taking her hand from the door and backing up into the room. She didn't make a smart comment or say that he should take a picture as most girls would have. She just walked away, leaving the door open for Holm to follow. Holm noticed that she was wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a baggy sweat-shirt and thought that his earlier assumption of her just rolling out of bed must have been correct. She appeared cranky.

He strode through the door and followed her as the girl went over and spoke with Magnus. "—Didn't know you would be here so early." She said, her voice bitter and irritated.

"It's ten o' clock, biscuits." Magnus said with some sarcasm, but his voice was fond. "What are you doing sleeping so late? You're supposed to be running the Institute while Trif and Corin are away."

"God, you're starting to sound like them, Magnus." She said, running a hand over her short red hair. "Don't act so familiar, you antisocial pariah."

"Who's away?" Holm said, coming to stand next to them.

The girl looked at him sideways, her lips slowly pursing. One of her eye brows slowly raised and she didn't answer, instead looking towards Magnus. "I hope you know I'm doing this as a favor to you, even though Mom and Dad and I haven't seen you for, what, two years? I don't know what you think I'm supposed to do about some spoilt Lightwood brat."

Holm sputtered as he felt heat rush to his face. He scowled and was about to snap back when Magnus spoke.

"Spoilt, yes." Magnus said, nodding. "Hopeless, no. He is top of his class at the Academy."

"I was not trained at the Academy. If a little boy who's had everything handed to him his entire life can make top there now, then a lot has changed since Mom and Dad stopped teaching. I will not be so easy on him." She added, turning and walking down the hall. Magnus followed.

"Little?" Holm repeated in a dry tone and moved to follow. "And what do you mean, I? Aren't your parents the one training me?"

Suddenly the girl whipped around and Holm had to stop abruptly to keep from walking into her. "My parents don't train anymore. They are away on business in Alicante now, even if they did. So youll be pleased to know that I will be the one training you."

"What?!" He exclaimed. She didn't move except to cross her arms. "That's absolutely ridiculous. You can't be older than me."

"No. I'm not. Actually, I'm still seventeen. But the Clave announced me a graduated Shadowhunter three months ago. I've already finished my education." She explained with a smirk.

"But how is that possible?" Holm asked, disgruntled.

"The Clave has declared me an exceptional talent, apparently." She replied, shrugging.

"No,_ I _am an exceptional talent." Holm emphasized. "Your…"

"I'm what?" She said, her cheeks red with anger, her eyes narrowed with a glare.

"Ok, enough, kiddies!" Magnus cut in, moving to stand in between them before a fight could break out. He turned towards Holm, his expression bordering on annoyance and livid. "Holm, this is Frances Cromwell. She is your teacher."

"Francie." The girl bit in, slowly uncrossing her arms. "No one calls me Frances."

"I don't care if your name is Frances, England, Japan, or whatever!" He spat back at her and looked desperately towards Magnus. "You can't be serious! Im supposed to stay here, alone, with this crazy… broad," He spat, "and have her complete my training?"

Francie brushed past Magnus and walked up towards Holm. For a second, he thought she would hit him. But then she placed her hand on his shoulder and walked slowly around him, dragging her hand lightly across the top of his chest. "Scared, Shadowhunter?" She leaned in a bit to whisper before she turned and continued down the hall. A moment later she turned, disappeared around a corner, and was gone.

Holm stared after her, not sure whether to be furious, confused, or turned on. Which didn't happen often. He turned back towards Magnus who gave him an impatient look before following Francie, gesturing for Holm to follow.

Did he say rose beautiful? More like black widow beautiful.

* * *

"August 11, 2007.

Dear Diary,

It is six o' clock in the morning. I am up at six o' clock in the morning, on a break day, by myself. I could kill Robert. Now I can't even sleep in on one of the few break days I have. I naturally get up by myself at six o' clock now. It completely sucks, but I guess on the upside I've caught some spare minutes to write a little something down in here.

Yesterday night was fantastic. After Isabelle had gotten out of the shower, we both got quickly dressed and went to Alicante for shopping. It was as weird as it was when we left a little over two months ago. As we passed people stared, whispered, pointed, and even came up to us. Jace wasn't there (I wanted to invite him, but now that I think about it, he wouldn't have wanted to come, and Isabelle didn't allow it anyway) so I didn't get nearly as much attention as when I was walking with him. But it was still a little awkward. After we got over it, though, I had plenty of fun, surprisingly. Shopping in Alicante isn't much different from shopping in Brooklyn stores, except that there is no electricity. The clothing style is different, though. Strangely enough, I think I like it. I'm not sure how much money Maryse gave Isabelle to dish out but we both were able to afford a designer evening gown, three complete outfits (with shoes and accessories), a haircut, a manicure and pedicure, and lunch at a street side café to boot. And yes, they do have salons in Alicante. They're even better than any of the salons I've ever been to in Brooklyn. I came out of that place with bouncy, thick, movie star extensions that brought my hair down the middle of my back. It felt so good and I looked like something out of a John Frieda commercial. Of course, I didn't have much say about it. As soon as we got into the salon Isabelle sat me down, took the stylist to the corner, and began to speak to him, gesturing towards her head with big movements, and pointing at me. She herself came out with a pin straight style and bangs cut straight across her forehead. She looked like an Egyptian princess.

When we got back it was almost seven. Our hair was already finished so all we had to do was get dressed and go. The boys were waiting for us outside the Institute. Magnus was standing there with his arm around Alec. Isabelle immediately went over to Simon and I went to Jace. He just stared at me with the same look he gave me that night we went to Magnus's party. I was worried for a second but then he put his arm around my waist and pulled me next to him (look at me, blushing while I write this). "Your hair…" He said, burying his face in my new, long thick curly locks.

I could only blush and stutter out, "What?"

"It's beautiful."

Yeah. I know, Diary. I am the luckiest girl in the world.

The rest of the night was spent at the Pandemonium. Jace doesn't dance, and that's perfectly fine with me, because neither do I. Instead we sat at the table, people watched, talked, and listened to music. The entire night Jace had his arm around my shoulder, shooting smug glares at some of the single guys roaming through the club while running his hands wonderingly through my new hair. Simon and Isabelle danced most of the night, with Isabelle stabing murderous glares towards a group of girls who came up to flirt with Simon. Neither Magnus nor Alec danced either, and they sat with Jace and I throughout the evening.

We got home to a furious Maryse at around one o' clock in the morning. Alec, Magnus, and Simon had all gone home so me, Isabelle, and Jace got the brunt of her fury. We all stumbled to bed after that. After about half an hour, when he was sure Maryse and Robert was asleep, Jace came to my room. We were both tired so we just ended up flopping down and falling asleep. But it was a good sleep. Or, more specifically, it will be. Now I'm tired again. *flops down dead*

--Clary."

_"Its beautiful."_ A voice read over his shoulder and Holm jumped, spinning around. He was sitting in the study in the Institute, reading the diary. Francie was standing behind him, leaning over his shoulder, her eyes on the diary page. Holm grimaced and angrily slapped the diary shut.

"What?" He snapped. She leaned back and crossed her arms. He noticed that she held a book and dagger in her arms.

"Magnus went home. What is that?" She asked, not paying the least bit of attention to his tone.

"Nothing." He said, standing.

"That's that diary Magnus told me about, right?" She said, reaching for it. Holm scowled and backed up a step.

"No."

"It is. I learned about Clary from my parents."

"It's not."

She raised an eyebrow at him and sighed. "Come on. We're starting." She said, turning and striding towards the library.

"Starting what?" Holm griped, but followed her out.

"Your training."

* * *

dun Dun DUN!! Another cliff hanger, of sorts! :D This one is not as painful though, so not to worry. Something seems to be going on with those demons huh? And how will Holm react to Francies training? STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT! Dont you touch that remote! grr...

Reviews are better than the $300 I got for Christmas (not really). But they _are _better than lobster at the Bass Pro Shop restaurant. With a big baked potatoe. O.o YUM.

LOL


	6. A Lesson

** Okay, so there is no excuse. *shrugs* I have the motivation now. Chapter 7 is already halfway typed up, so please expect it within the next week. :] Thank you, my lovelies. **

**All characters except for Holm, his mother, and his father belong to Cassandra Clare, as well as any settings (Alicante, Idris, ect.). Idea/Plot belongs to me. **

* * *

"Stand there."

Holm huffed and moved to stand where Francie had indicated, struggling to control his contempt at her commanding tone. He stood in the center of the Institutes gym, his arms crossed. His eyes followed her as she set the book and the stele on a table pushed up against the wall by the door and then pull off her baggy sweat shirt. She tossed that on the table as well and walked towards him, barefoot, wearing only her shorts and a plain grey sports bra. He kept his expression fairly blank, except for a raised eyebrow, as she stood before him, her arms crossed, a contemplative look on her face. "Take off your shirt and shoes." Her voice snapped out suddenly.

Holm blinked and his blank expression collapsed. He uncrossed his arms as his eyes brows furrowed and he looked at her with shock. "What?"

"You heard me. Ditch the shoes and shirt."

"Uh, no?" He said and mentally kicked himself when it came out as a question.

Francie rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a puss. I know you're wearing an undershirt beneath that and you can't fight on the mats with shoes on."

"Fight?" Holm repeated with shock. "I am not going to fight you."

"And why not?" She demanded with indignation.

"You're a girl. There's no way." Holm snapped, his hands on his hips.

She sighed with irritation and uncrossed her arms. "Spare me the chivalry. It really doesn't suit you. And don't worry; I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. I'll go easy on you."

Holm shook his head and snorted, "Right, _youll_ go easy on _me_." But he relented and bent over to pull off his shirt. He tossed it at her and kicked off his shoes while she turned and threw the shirt at the table.

"Ok, just stand there for a second." She commanded and strode towards him.

Holm smirked. "If you wanted to see me naked, you could have asked." He commented as she stood about half a foot in front of him, looking him up and down.

He sucked in a quick breath of pain when her hand shot out and jabbed him surprisingly hard in the abs. He tried to conceal it, but unable to help himself, he coughed and groaned, putting a hand to his throbbing stomach.

"Ha ha, very funny. " She retorted in a fabulously sarcastic tone. "Why did you try to hide it?"

He coughed again and straightened with some difficulty, scowling furiously. "Hide what?" He growled, unable to conceal his anger.

Her hand came out and slapped him hard on the arm, and then upside the head. He hissed and his hand flew up to his head where she had hit him. He glared at her, struggling to control his temper. "Ow." He said slowly.

"Watch the tone." She warned evenly, but then she answered. "Your pain; when I hit you in the stomach. Why did you try to hide it?"

"I…" He began harshly before his voice trailed off. "I didn't." He finally said, shaking his head.

"You did." She said firmly and tilted her head, an eye brow raised. "You don't have a _parabatai_, do you? Have you ever hunted with a partner or in a group?"

"Nope." He answered swiftly. "I didn't go demon hunting often because of the Academy, and when I did it was always by myself or, when I was younger, with my father."

"A Shadowhunter must always have a partner. It dangerous to hunt on your own, you idiot." She scolded, slapping him on his arm again. He hissed, sucking in a breath.

"Every time you hunt here, you will go with me. Understood?" She commanded, placing her hands on her hips. "There are far worse things than Raveners roaming around Brooklyn. And you will not hide pain anymore. If you're hurt, you will say something. Otherwise you endanger your life and the life of your partner."

"Fine. Whatever." He replied exasperatedly, rubbing the back of his head.

"Who taught you hand-to-hand at the Academy?" Francie demanded, jumping to the next subject.

Holm blinked. "Old man Hollen."

Francie put a hand to her mouth and she slowly circled him, her eyes examining him up and down. Holms eyes followed for as much as he could without moving. Eventually she was standing in front of him again and she appraised him carefully, starting at his feet and moving up to his face.

Holm shrugged. "Well?" He asked, spreading his arms wide.

"What was the last thing you trained on with Professor Hollen?" She asked, her eyes flickering back up to his face.

"I_ finished_ my training with Hollen." He replied smugly.

Her hand whipped out and caught his head in another blow. He flinched and shouted this time. "Hey!"

"Good. _That's_ the way you express pain. That's _Professor_ Hollen." She scolded. "And we'll see."

Holm sighed in irritation as Francie lowered arms to hang at her sides. "See what?"

Suddenly, in a flash of movement, Francie ducked and swung her leg in a sweeping ark across the floor of the gym, striking out towards Holm's legs. Taken by complete surprise, he found himself thudding heavily on his back to the floor of the gym, his legs having been swept out from under him. He gasped and coughed as all the wind was knocked out of him and laid there for a few moments, gulping in air. Francie walked over and stood leaning over him, her hands on her hips. "Whether or not _I_ think you've _really_ completed your physical training."

* * *

"Oof!" Holm grunted as he was thrown onto his back yet again on the floor of the Institutes gym. He growled after gaining back some of the air that had been knocked out of him and sat up, glaring angrily at Francie. She stood over him, an eyebrow raised, looking down at him before she held out her hand. Holm ignored it. He threw his body back and his legs into the air, launching himself up and landing neatly on his feet. Francie had withdrawn her hand and only stood smirking, not put off in the least by Holm's attitude, while he glared angrily. Here he was getting beat up by a little girl who was as thin as a rail, and she wasn't even tired.

"Now don't look at me like that." She warned in that voice that she usually used right before she was about to hit him across the head. She walked over to the table pushed up against the wall, which held several bottles of water and a towel. She grabbed a bottle of water and paused, looking down at it for a moment. Then all of a sudden she spun and hurled it at Holm's head. Holm's eyes widened and his hand darted out to snatch the bottle from the air. He smirked and shot Francie a smug look, who had the decency to look a little impressed, and took a sip. "The good news," She began, grabbing two towels. "is that we're pretty much done for the day." She tossed him a towel, which he caught, and used her own to wipe her face.

"Pretty much?" Holm growled, gulping down another large portion of the water. The rest he poured over the towel and ran it over his face, pushing back his fine blonde hair from his eyes.

"Do you want to hear the bad news?" Francie continued, ignoring Holm.

"No." Holm said simply.

"Well here it is anyway." She continued, a wide grin on her face, her hands on her hips. Abruptly, however, she was serious. "I don't think your hand-to-hand is up to my standards." She announced sternly.

"Your standards?" Holm asked, indignant. "What qualifies as your standards?"

"Look pretty boy, you just got beat up by a one hundred and twenty pound girl. I doubt you're up to anyone's standards."

Holm would have hurled a water bottle at her head if he wasn't sure she would catch it and then hurl it right back. But most probably aiming way lower than his head.

"The fact is that you must not have paid enough attention to Professor Hollen. You need more training." She said, running a hand over cropped red locks. "This will set us back at least a month." She mumbled into her hand.

"You have got to be kidding me." Holm nearly shouted for what must have been the tenth time that day. "You don't even want to train me! Why would you purposely drag it on longer when my skills are perfectly fine."

"Your right, Lightwood, I don't want to train you." She said, striding up to him and thumping him hard on the chest. Holm hand trouble keeping his hand from going up and massaging the area in pain. "But the fact of the matter is that I am the daughter of Trif and Corin Cromwell, two of the best Professor to ever teach at the academy, and if I'm going to do my job, I'm going to do it right." She shrugged, tossing her towel over her shoulder. "Besides, remember, this is a favor to Magnus. And I don't skimp out on favors, even if they are for moody warlocks who you haven't seen in almost two years." She said, striding out of the room. Holm grabbed his shirt and shoes from where she had tossed them earlier and followed.

"So that's it?" Holm grumbled, not bothering to pull on his shirt. He hated to admit it, but Francie did put up a fight. Trying to ignore the fact that he had been knocked on his back several times by a girl two times smaller than him, he ran a hand through his hair. There he had been, sweating and panting with effort, while the only sign of wear she had displayed were the beads of sweat that ran down her forehead and neck. Her cropped red hair was frizzy and feathery from the sweat and her face flushed, but she seemed otherwise composed.

"Whats it?"

"Were completely done for the day?" Holm asked, almost hesitantly in case she decided to spring something else on him.

Francie paused and looked up thoughtfully before turning halfway to face him. Holm, who had still been walking, had to take care to stop quick enough so as to not run into her. "Actually, there's one more thing. And then there's somewhere I want to take you. Go take a shower and meet me in the sick room."

"The sickroom?" Holm questioned, pausing to rub his stiff shoulder.

"Yeah, the sickroom." Francie repeated testily.

"Why the sickroom?"

"Because. Don't question your teacher." Francie said, and Holm thought her face flushed a little bit redder. But maybe he was just imagining it.

She turned without another word and strode down the hall, disappearing around a corner. Holm watched after her for a moment before shaking his head. With a rough sigh and a frustrated expression, he made his way down another hall and into his room. Among the hundreds of rooms at the Institute, there were a few with their own bathrooms. Since it was just him and Francie staying there for the next several months, he had been given one of these few rooms, while Francie supposedly had another. He actually had no clue where her room was, and she had clearly made no effort to tell him.

He stood in front of the mirror to the dresser, examining his reflection. His face had a pained, slightly angry expression to it. His muscles and bones ached from the admittedly impressive sparring session with Francie. His neck hurt a bit from some whiplash. His right shoulder and much of his back suffered particularly from the multiple falls (or more like throws) he had endured. Already he could see a purplish bruise spreading over much of his shoulder. When he turned, much of his back seemed fine, but the skin around his shoulder blades was purpling.

Sighing, he went to take a shower. The bathroom was nice enough, not as impressive as the lavish bath Holm had access to in his own home, but the water was hot and felt good on his sore shoulder , back, and neck. He stepped out when he was finished and got dressed, mulling on whether or not he should obey Francie's order and meet her in the sickroom. He almost just retreated to the library to read more of the Diary. But then he remembered that he and Francie were here alone and she could easily find him if she wanted to. And she would if he didn't show up. He knew that much.

With a sigh, he strode down the hall, rubbing his shoulder. He had left his stele in the gym, he thought with a grumble, and would have done an iratze if he wasn't so lazy at that moment to go get it.

When Holm arrived at the sick room, Francie was standing at the counter where all the herbs and medicines were kept in drawers with her back turned to him. He strode in, rubbing his sore shoulder, and groaned as he sat down on a bed. "Hey, lend me your steele. I need to do an iratze."

"No." She chirped without turning around.

Holms head jerked up painfully and he glared at her back. "What do you mean no?"

She appeared to be crushing herbs and to her right something was boiling, steaming in a small cauldron like thing. Her hair was damp and there was water droplets on the back of her hoodie from where she had clearly also gotten out of the shower only recently. He marveled slightly at the speed she got things done. "No iratzes."

"Ever?" Holm gulped, his eyes widening angrily.

"During your training." Francie's clipped voice answered. She reached over to stir whatever was boiling in the pot, and peered carefully inside, her eyes squinting against the steam.

"What?! Why?" Holm demanded, outraged. His back ached ferociously and his neck suffered from the repeated whiplash he had received. He was mildly disgusted at himself for being beaten so easily. There was no way he could try and redeem himself tomorrow with himself barely able to move. And now she refused to give him an iratze. He growled angrily. It was just one thing after another.

"Most shadow hunters," She began as she poured the boiling mixture carefully into a small mug, "rely far too much on iratzes. They don't take their own safety into as much consideration in battle, because they think they can always count on an iratze."

"That's what an iratze is for." Holm snapped angrily.

"Maybe. It's true that an iratze is a useful rune in a tight spot. But to rely on it to much means you put yourself in harms way more easily." She said, leaning down to pull something from a cabinet on the counter. She pulled out a mysterious blank bottle and grabbed the steaming mug as she continued. "When you don't take your safety into as much consideration because of the easy access of an iratze, you take the risk of receiving more fatal injuries and poisons, things that can't be healed so easily with an iratze." She held the bottle and mug in both hands and turned, walking towards him.

"So?" Holm grumbled angrily, watching as she set the bottle and mug on the nightstand next to the bed he sat on.

"So, when you take your own safety into less consideration, you put not only yourself into more danger, but the safety of your partners." Francie explained, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. "Against certain demons and in certain situations, every shadow hunter counts. You cannot risk your own safety so recklessly because you also endanger the lives of others." Holm said nothing and fumed silently. She was right, of course. But Holm didn't want to admit that. Besides, he never hunted or fought with the help of partners. Francie looked down at him sternly, and then sighed. She picked up the mug, handing it to him. Holm took it wordlessly, looking at it cautiously. "Drink." She commanded.

Holm bent and sniffed the contents of the mug. It smelled sweet, buttery. It honestly smelled like it would be delicious. But he made no move to drink. "What is it?"

"A tisane." France answered. "This one will help ease the stiffness after training. You'll drink one every day, and starting tomorrow, you'll learn to make them."

"Tisanes aren't in the curriculum for shadow hunter training." Holm pointed out, but took a sip. It was warm and comforting and tasted incredible, like a mix between butterscotch and honeyed milk, but not as sweet.

"They are in my curriculum. You'll learn to make them. Tisanes are useful and there are recipes for practically every need. And they're good for you. My parents insisted I learn while I was training, so so will you."

Holm grumbled wordlessly, but continued drinking. Francie waited patiently while he drank, not commenting when Holm took his sweet time. When he finally finished, she took the mug from him, set it back on the nightstand, and picked up the bottle, nudging him lightly in the shoulder. "Turn sideways and take off your shirt."

"Uhg." Holm grumbled. "Again? What now?" He muttered bitterly, but slid his shirt off. His muscles still ached, but the pain in his neck and the soreness in his shoulder blades had gone. The tisane had worked, he admitted somewhat reluctantly, and then became slightly startled when Francie sat down on the bed behind him, holding the bottle and tucking her legs under her. "What are you doing?"

"Shut up and just sit there." She barked almost angrily. "This is a formula used in Institutes and hospitals in Alicante to relieve muscle pains and bruises after training and battle." She explained, pouring the contents of the bottle onto his shoulders. The scent immediately assailed his nose. The mixture of herbs and potions had a very medicinal smell.

"What the hell? It smells horrible!" He exclaimed, jerking away from her abruptly.

"Don't be a baby!" She scolded, popping him soundly on the head. "You won't be able to train tomorrow if you can barley move." She snapped, gripping him by the shoulder and jerking him back towards her.

"Jeeze!" He complained angrily, gingerly rubbing his head as he settled back into his previous seat. He fumed silently as he allowed her to spread the formula over his back, concentrating on the clear outlines of muscles. She asked where he felt pain most, and felt along for any knots in the muscle. Her slim fingers applied light pressure wherever he felt pain and despite himself he found himself relaxing, his eyes closing lazily. "How did you learn to do all this?" He asked suddenly, piercing the silence, referring to the Tisanes and her healing methods.

Her fingers froze for a brief moment on his back and Holm realized with a start that is was the first personal question he had asked her. After a moment she unfroze and answered. "This is how I was trained. I've only recently started using Iratzes since I was born. Over the course of my training I've broken an arm and leg in various places, six fingers, four toes, both wrists, my left ankle, several ribs, and my nose. And all of them my father made to heal naturally while still continuing my training." She explained and Holm felt his eyes widening as her list continued on. He had of course broken bones and been injured before, but they had all been healed immediately with an Iratze. "My mother did these things for me, to help ease the pain." She furthered. "She taught me to do them for whenever she wasn't here."

"God." He commented, shaking his head.

"Yeah." She said with a smirk. "Just be glad you're not being trained by my father. I guarantee that you would already have a few broken bones by now." Her hands slid off his back and she picked up a towel from the floor where she had apparently tossed it, rubbing her hands free of the excess formula. She patted him once hard on the shoulder, "Okay, were done for today." She stood and Holm sat up and arched his back, stretching. The knots in his back had gone and though his muscles were still someone sore, the overall pain was gone.

"Wow." He muttered to himself, rubbing his shoulder. He looked up as Francie was walking out the door. "Hey wait, what am I supposed to do now?"

"I'm going to sleep!" She answered, pulling the door open. "You can go do whatever you want. Just don't leave the institute. I don't feel comfortable with you wandering around Brooklyn on your own."

"What the hell?" Holm shouted back but she was gone. He sat back, his temper flaring, and fumed. "You're not my mother!" He shouted childishly through the door and faintly heard Francie's faraway chuckle. Holm growled, clenching his teeth. He had never been so frustrated in one day. At the academy, even the teachers respected him. Only his parents ever yelled at him or made a fool out of him. Before Francie, only his father had been able to beat him in a duel. It wasn't that he had a problem not being able to go out. He hadn't planned on it anyway. In his opinion, Brooklyn was just as filthy as his mother had said. It was that he didn't have the option to that bugged him. Francie was beginning to distinctly remind him of his mother.

Huffing angrily, he got up off the bed and went to get Clary's diary.

* * *

Holm sat in the library of the institute, flipping through Clary's diary. The smell of the formula had required him to take a second shower, and tendrils of still wet hair dripped drops of water onto his shirt. He flipped through the first section of Clary's diary, going out of his rhythm of reading each entry as it came. The latest ones had been nothing but brief descriptions of Clary's day and he was eager to read about a bigger even in her life. His eyes caught a specific word and he stopped, peering curiously down at the date of the entry.

"October 19, 2012"

Almost six years later, Holm mused. His eyes lazed down towards the entry as he began to read.

"Dear Diary,

It hardly seems as though it's been six years. I know I neglected to keep up with you for a while, and I can say I'm sorry for that. I've probably missed out on looking back at a lot of memories.

My training has come near its end. After the wedding, I'll be finishing up the rest of my training in Idris. For now I'm taking a break as Jace and I try to get the wedding going and find out where we will be staying once we get to Alicante. Jace has been looking up different houses close to Angels Hall where we will both be working. I still have the money from Valentine that I saved six years ago and Mom is giving me some access to the third portion of the money she had put away just in case. Some of it will go to a down payment on a house and the rest is going towards our wedding. Speaking of our wedding, the small affair we had envisioned has been completely put aside. Magnus and Isabelle have been illustrating exactly how many people who would expect an invite once we actually announce our engagement and we seem to have no choice but to give in. Many of the council members, the Penhallows, a good number of the werewolves, Amatis, her new husband Damon, all the Lightwoods, a few of the vampires, Magnus, the Warlocks, the Fair Folk (not good to insult them by not sending invites, which they will be expecting, Jace says), and countless other people. So, to the delight of Magnus and Isabelle, who have taken reign of the wedding preparations, it should be a fairly huge event. Yikes. Alec will be Jace's best man. And of course, Luke has already agreed to walk me down the aisle. Little Sandy will be the flower girl. Isabelle has agreed to be my maid of honor. Everything seems to be going so fast, I can't help but get a little dizzy when I think of it all.

The wedding is planned for sometime in the summer. In the meantime, were looking for our house and just taking things slow for once. Since Jace and I are starting work in the Council right away, however, we will be moving into a temporary apartment in the city. As of now, we are busy packing up everything and spending out last few days trolling through Brooklyn. Leaving the Institute for Alicante is a bittersweet experience. This place is where Jace and I met, where I had my training, where we first kissed, where we fought, where I was brought into the world of Shadowhunters. It's the place Jace brought me after he saved my life that day, the place I met Magnus for the first time, and Isabelle and Alec. The place where Simon became a vampire and the place where we met Maia, where I found out the truth about Luke, the place I lived for mostly my entire life. But it's time to move on, and Jace has been missing Idris. I know he has. And truthfully, so have I. Alec and Magnus are staying in Brooklyn, and Isabelle is now living with Simon while he is in college. So it will just be me and Jace.

Right now Jace is asleep on the bed in our room, and I'm sitting out in the hallway by the door. We were packing up and when I looked over, he was asleep. I'm glad, he works so hard these days. Sometimes I have to come close to forcing him to come to bed. It's a bit of a relief to see him sleeping without my having to tell him to. There's more work to come. The days ahead will be long and complicated. For now, it's okay to just rest.

Clary."

Holm blinked and went back, reading the entry over again. So by now, they were already sharing and room and engaged, about to move to Alicante. He huffed, glancing at the clock on the desk. It was nearly twelve o' clock at night and Francie would probably have him up early tomorrow. Sighing, he gathered the diary and headed to his room.

* * *

**Tadaaa! :] Please, leave reviews. They are better than getting texts from the guy I like (NOT REALLY) *cough*. Im sure, if your paying attention, your wondering who Sandy is? :] She is Luke and Jocelyns daughter. So, Clary's sister. I dont know if werewolves are capable of safely reproducing, but I like to think so. And its ten times more fun that way! :D Chapter seven is halfway finished, and some exciting stuff happens. Please look forward to it within the next week! **

**Reviewsss!!! **


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